


Far From Home

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Future, Complete, Cosmonauts, Love, M/M, Mice, Most Nations Show Up, Mpreg, Nothing involving Mice, Outer Space, Space Pirates, Swearing, Weird Sex, cat people - Freeform, emotional development
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-04-28 11:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 34,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14448429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: After an experimental space flight goes wrong, lone cosmonaut Ivan Braginsky is stranded in deep space. Abandoned to his fate, the stranded mechanic is doomed to die alone. Only he isn't alone at all...To Yantiskra, a friend whom I discovered was not given a gift during a Rusame Secret Santa event. I will avenge your fallen holiday dreams!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Far From Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15735684) by [HetalianGreta (Mezzaluna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mezzaluna/pseuds/HetalianGreta)



The halls were dull grey metal, pristine and lifeless. They curved with the elegant hull, undulating dips hiding nooks and darkened doors. Some halls were only lit faintly by damaged strips of flickering lights. They winked and faded occasionally, betraying how long this miserable space craft had been idling in the blackened voids of the universe.

The glossy nuclear fusion chambers and rows of titanium reinforced rooms stretched ever onward. There was no life left anymore, only skeletons of dead crew members lovingly dressed and laid out in their individual sleeping quarters. A plump furry mouse explored these long preserved spaces, ears pricking up.

It had heard a sound.

A noise, possibly the only sound left in the world echoed. It echoed in every hall, the strongest in the command centre of the ship. It was an ancient Russian folk song, plinking up and down the scales. The lone rodent eagerly headed to the sound, associating it with food after six and a half years of being in this manufactured space.

The control room sported blackened walls from the disaster years before. There was still magnetically fried electrical wires exposed, dangling from holes in the wall like dismal party streamers. Small sections had been carefully repaired from nonfunctional parts of the ship, like a shifting jigsaw puzzle missing too many pieces.

The mouse hardly cared, bounding to the sleeping lump of flesh on the ground. It was a tired pale man, cuddled in several Roscosmos issue blankets. The dirty mattress was dragged from his own quarters at the back of the ship. It was one of the few sections unaffected.

Not surprisingly, the rear of the ship was stripped to nothing to keep the life support and dynamic energy shields on. Minute space debris and environmental radiation would have done the ship in ages ago without such intense efforts.

The music started blaring again above the sleeping man, making him groan. The greasy ash blond cracked a violet eye open. “Why... Why Kalinka. There is other songs.” he complained to himself, spotting the furry mouse before him.

“Good morning Vladislav.” the human greeted softly in Russian, gently running pale fingers over the soft fur of his only companion. “I had a dream we went sailing. Isn't that silly?” The Russian searched his tiny friend's eyes, seeking... _something_.

The plump creature only squeaked and waited for a few crumbs of rations, his daily breakfast. The man sighed in weary manner and threw aside his many blankets. With the life support having declined in functionality, it was a safe bet to stay warm.

Still in his dark red engineer's uniform, the man stood and offered a hand to the creature. It scrambled into his hand, then up the sleeve and onto broad shoulders. The morning alarm started up another round of Kalinka at top volume.

“Alarm off.” the tall man growled, in a rather foul mood. Ever since the ship ran out of shaving razors a month ago, his face had been so _itchy_. Cracking open a stale pack of Roscosmos brand nutrient crackers, A corner piece was offered to the mouse.

The morning alarm finally shut off. A friendly computer voice began it's usual greeting above him. It was the only functioning speaker left in the place, the last human voice that wasn't his own.

“Good Morning junior engineer Ivan Braginsky. Welcome to day 2,372 of duty. Mission return is late by 1,642 days.” the happy electronic voice informed him, having long pauses between such large numbers.

Ivan listened numbly, wishing he hadn't run out of contraband cigarettes over six years ago. The alcohol supplies had dried up just as quickly. The mountain of a man had made more than enough mistakes, bringing him to this moment.

“Computer, relay system conditions.” He ordered briskly as he stretched, joints popping and cracking.

“Fusions engines are at 53% efficiency. Life support is at 61% efficiency. 11% of total registered rations remain. 8% of reserve water remains. 12% of reserve oxygen remains. Damage is noted in sections A, B, V, G, D, –”

Cutting off the depressingly long list of impossible repairs, Ivan asked “Computer, has anyone responded to the distress signal?”

“Not currently.”

“Computer, have other distress signals been received?”

“Not currently.”

“Fuck me.” Ivan cursed to himself, as he gently petted a docile Vladislav in his cupped hand.

“Please restate your query.”

“Shut up tin can, I wasn't talking to you.”

“Please restate your query.”

The engineer groaned in exasperation but said nothing, having been caught in this loop before. Despite having two centuries to improve, voice recognition was still pretty terrible to deal with. Sucking in a breath, the man gather his wilted resolve. He had to keep trying. The Roscosmos Agency would never just abandon him in deep space. They _couldn't_. Even if that magnetic burst short circuited all of their communication equipment after they left the solar system, ground control was still looking. Probably.

Braginsky was not going to waste another day drinking and screaming in frustration over the matter. Mostly because he had run out of booze.

“Computer. Read me the tale of two cities again. Read it in a french accent this time. I want something different.” Ivan suggested to his ambient surroundings, tucking his delicate mouse friend in a front pocket. It was also lined to protect Vladislav from the increasing cold of the ship. The little guy simply didn't produce enough heat some days, cuddling his host desperately for warmth.

With dying hope and a quick prayer, Ivan set off to conquer his sea of problems.

Today's mindless busy work was fixing the sensor array. Truthfully, Ivan was only a junior engineer, barely qualified to be on this voyage. The advanced programming was far beyond his capabilities. He was more of a practical man, repairing wires, pipes, and metal plates. His real strength was nuclear reactors and radiation safety. Without those fusion engines remaining in perfect condition, Ivan would have died years ago of poisoning.

The computer's endless dialogue washed out as Ivan slipped away to more damaged areas, tales of classic literature the only noise tethering him from the voids of loneliness.

The sensor array was a compact computer room at the heart of the ship, connected to the outer skin of the space vessel by thick cables of wires. It was a dark and cramped place, especially since Ivan had run out of replacement light strips. Many rooms were broken or dying in this manner, forcing the stubborn man to use an old fashioned flash flight from his tool box.

Shivering, Ivan lashed on yet another sweater as he worked. With the oxygen and temperature controls questionable at best in this awful room, he tried hurriedly to attach a copper line to an exposed motherboard in the wall. Damn his shaking hands!

Feeling faint, he slid the panel cover back in place. The radio receivers were likely a lost cause. This was a crushing failure to his slim chances of survival. Now he had no devices left to speak out or listen for other ships. The distress beacon he launched a year ago was the only chance left, trailing behind the semi functional ship on an improvised rope of burned out electrical cables.

Who was he kidding? There was no other ships. This had been the first ship to sling shot itself into deep space using the pull of a black hole. The science of this method, which Ivan still didn't understand, was insanely successful. The ship was thrown so far, the piloting systems temporarily shut down from information overload. 

That's when the weakened magnetic energy of a passing quasar fried half the crew. At the very least, that was what the engineer theorized from the complicated notes left behind.

“God damn it! Fuck! Can't one thing work today!” Ivan cursed with tearful eyes, punching the metal panel on the wall. Shaking with frustration instead of cold, he slammed the metal door as he left, sealing the doomed room shut. Becoming almost unbearably frigid to work out of, this had been one of his last chances to mend the malfunctioning nervous system.

“Vladislav, I don't know what to do. I'm running out of supplies.” he confessed to the creature. It peeked it's little face out of his two sweaters and workers suit, blinking at him. Returning to the warmest section of the ship, He curled under the heap of blankets. Nibbling on the last of his nutrient crackers for the day, Ivan cried softly as he listened. The words of the old English story washed over him again, drowning out his suppressed terror and depression.

Curled up on the floor mattress with Vladislav, he drifted weakly into troubled slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time he woke, the computer was silent. Glancing at the wall clock, it was several hours later than regular breakfast. The computer touch screen on the wall was blank. The lights in the room flickered, and the hall outside the sealed control room was dark. Shuddering a breath, Ivan crawled out of his blanket cocoon. He pawed sleepily at the computer controls, but they wouldn't come to life.

Biting back a mental flood of the worst possible scenarios, Ivan shouted “Computer, turn on!” There was no hum of activating machinery, or that chipper electronic voice. “Computer! Turn on you ungrateful bastard! You aren't leaving me here!” he ordered again, starting to panic.

Taking in a few more ragged breaths, he willed himself to stop screaming. Dropping into a pilot seat by one of the displays, he poured over the still working controls. With what little he knew of the dashboard before him, the stressed Russian could figure out there was still air and heat in the hall outside. Vladislav sat on a large button, preening his little mouse ears.

“Just you and me for breakfast today Vladka. Mr. Computer is not co-operating again.” he giggled to himself, swallowing bubbling fear inside. Running hands through his greasy long hair, Ivan distantly wished there was enough water to shower.

“Vladka, I have to go visit the fusion engines and see why they are so finicky today. Then after, we can watch movies together.” he rambled, violet eyes wildly jumping between various ship read outs. _Too much damage to fix_ , his brain was whispering to him. _Too far above your training_ , he dared think.

He was torn from delusional conversations with himself by activity from a security camera screen. The visuals were long gone. Of course Roscosmos corporation had only anticipated this ship would endure a two year mission. After three years of drifting on minimal power, everything started falling apart. _Russian engineering at it's finest_ , Ivan had cursed on more than one occasion.

Still, most of the microphones in the hidden camera rigs were functional. Ivan listened intently, ear almost pressed against the speakers. The clattering of sound was that faint. It was the persistent sound of metal on metal, maybe... movement? 

Were the ceiling covers falling off in section G again?

This theory was disproved immediately. The distinctive hiss and flare of an arc welder started loudly, making Ivan wince and retreat from the crackling speakers. The noise was impossible to exist at all, given the arc welder stopped working two years ago.

It... wasn't welding machinery. It was loose wires sparking off each other. Yes. Definitely. Not machinery at all.

Accepting his own denials, Ivan browsed any available information about the sealed off section. It used to be where the more important crew slept, and where the kitchen was. The heating systems had failed catastrophically in that region, making it impossible to traverse without a thermal suit. Something Ivan didn't have. Having more than three on board for a six person crew was “not needed” apparently.

“Fuck!” Ivan swore, wringing his cold hands. After pacing anxiously in the small room, The bear of a man calmed down enough to steady his racing heart. He looked at himself in a hand mirror stolen from one of his dead coworkers. His pale face was reddened from the plunging temperatures, right to the tip of his large nose. His once prominent figure looked wain from lack of proper food. A thick scratchy beard was coming in, making him look more haggard than ever.

His scarf bound neck was still scarred with frostbite from the last time Ivan tried visiting section G. Going in would kill him. He couldn't go into the area and fix it directly. The determined engineer could at least confirm if it was sparking wires.

Layering on sweaters and mittens he had knitted over the years, Ivan readied himself. Leaving crumbles of a nutrient cracker for Vladislav, the man bravely set out. Opening the the sealed hall section, a chilly blast hit Ivan from the infinite darkness. He hurriedly locked the temperature sensitive mouse in the control room before the heat bled away.

With a brisk shiver, he turned on his heavy flashlight and started walking.

The sound was much more obvious once Ivan entered section V. The foggy transparent door clearly marked where the heaters stopped functioning. Peering through the foggy darkness, there was arcs of orange sparks persisting. It was impossible to pin down any sort of form in the sporadic lighting. The noise was palpable, like standing next to a roaring saw.

Curiously Ivan knocked on the nearly opaque door. There was no response. Not that he should expect one. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ivan turned away to leave. The persistent noises in section G stopped. The sudden silence was shocking and unnatural. Heart hammering, Ivan looked back fearfully.

A four fingered glove was wiping collected frost off the other side of the door.

“Oh dear God in heaven!” Ivan screamed, scrambling to get away. It was a primitive response, but the only one servicing him. Briefly forgetting how to work buttons, The Russian screamed and lashed out against the door preventing his escape. He could take being left alone for six years. He could tolerate half the ship being broken. This encounter was too much, breaking his logic centres.

There was now a clean patch of door, with a helmet clad humanoid of sorts peering in. The alien being waved at him. Ivan's voice died as he forgot how to breathe. There was no training he had been given for this moment. This moment, this huge event, had never been fully anticipated. Some astronauts had rallied for a class on dealing with aliens, but it had treated as a joke. Because it was a joke. Because... oh god.

Through a notable patch of cleaned glass, the alien being gestured at him. It disappeared a second, then the door started lurching open. Chunks of ice fell from the ceiling tracks as the metal and strengthened glass barrier slid open. Carrying a flashlight of it's own, the bulky space suit clad figure looked at Ivan from afar. Ignoring the biting cold, Ivan struggled to breathe as he curled up and went stalk still. His heart felt like it was going to explode.

It approached, fishing a strange device from a pocket of sorts. The item was small, no bigger than a pen. Remembering how to function, Ivan flailed and screamed when the figure came too close. In the process, he was pricked by the device.

Instantly he felt drugged and sluggish. The new emergency became trying to keep his eyes open. Getting weaker by the second, his body went completely lax as his brain screamed for action. The last thing he recalled as he passed out, was the alien figure crouching on multiple tube legs to watch him.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a scent of cinnamon that roused Ivan from his artificial rest. Breathing in the fresh air, Ivan stretched and looked around. He was in a large room covered ceiling to floor in fluffy red shag carpet. The air was fresh, if a little balmy. There was a violently blue platform in the middle, a table of sorts. A glass of clear liquid sat upon it.

This was not the control room of the _S.S. Horizon_.

Sitting up on the plush crimson bench, he discovered he was quite naked under his fuzzy red blanket. Ivan was also clean, the overpowering source of the cinnamon scents. Cautiously, he draped the blanket around his person and explored.

The low ceiling was hardly a surprise. Ivan was taller than most, always the big spoon in past relationships. Ducking to avoid hair static from the ceiling fuzz, he felt around his new quarters. The walls and ceiling were just as plush as the floor, squishy to the touch. The only solid object here was the table. Approaching the unconventional furniture, it also seemed to be the light source of the room.

Picking up the cup, he sniffed the liquid contents. By all accounts, it seemed like water. Ivan had not seen so much in one place since last year, when the water rationing started becoming severe. Feeling bone dry, he chugged the glass. Placing the glass on the table, he resumed looking for an escape method.

A gurgling sound emanated from the table, and the glass miraculously refilled. Uncertain if this was a dream, Ivan pinched himself. This was probably real. After a moment he reverently held the glass again. This time, he savoured every droplet. Drinking it, rubbing it into his skin, generally enjoying its movements.

This was the nicest place he had been to in six and a half years.

After six cups of water, his eternal thirst of the last few months was finally quenched. Sated, the man curled up on the comfortable floor and snuggled his blanket. It felt so good to be warm! Perhaps he would look for a way out later. It wasn't often he was living in such comfort.

It was too easy to fall into slumber in this place. He woke from a nap, blinking slowly. A door had appeared where there was none, a shorter figure carrying in a large tray. It took a moment to realize how nonhuman this stranger really was.

It was the height of an average person, clad in a black tunic of a dress. It had fine tan skin, and golden blond locks of hair. Upon closer inspection, the skin had fine interlocked scales, and the hair was really living moving tendrils. A razor sharp smile graced a strong jaw line as inhumanly blue eyes took in Ivan's appearance. This person of sorts moved closer using tentacles in lazy pulling motion, setting the tray on the table. At least it had normal arms, ending in four fingered hands.

Not knowing what to do, Ivan stayed under his blanket and watched. The creature gestured at him with blond mottled tentacles, then frowned with a furrowing of scaly brows. It fiddled with a device on it's blunted ear, resembling an ear piece style phone. Frustrated hisses and clicks denoted universal hatred of all nonfunctional machinery.

After a minute of this, a very American accented English over laid the reptilian sounds. “... Mattie, is this stupid translator even on? All I'm getting is static.”

“It should be working now, Alfie.” another voice patched in from somewhere.

Conversation. This was a real life conversation. Ivan had to participate, or move, or do something. Sitting up nervously, Ivan stammered in Russian “H-hello.” His tongue felt thick from the act. Hello? That was the best he could do? He majored in nuclear sciences and the best he could do was hello!?

“Omigosh. It's so precious! It's trying to talk! Did you catch what dialect that was?” the alien, presumably a male from the name, squealed in delight.

“I can't pull a language from two syllables, no matter how many organic processors I consist of.” the disembodied voice replied sardonically.

“Don't have to be a bitch about it. I'll just get it to talk more.” Alfred replied, sliding closer.

Ivan stood and retreated against a wall, covering his nudity the best he could. “Don't touch me again!” he threatened, panic rising like a toxic tide.

“Hey there, little, or uh, not so little fella. You gotta calm down or your internal systems are gonna explode.” the blond crested alien soothed, to little effect.

“He's scared Alfred. Try the food.” the omnipresent voice suggested softly.

“Any language yet?” the alien asked the ceiling.

“I'm sorry, but it's nonsense. If you paid extra credits for the other 350 languages, I could have been more helpful.” The ambient voice nagged in passive aggressive fashion.

The blond alien whistled, rolling eyes bluer than chemical fire. “Wow. Okay. You're mad. I get that.”

“You spilled a drink in my keyboards again. That really hurts my feelings. I don't like being all sticky.” the voice complained in the gentlest of tones.

“Are you done? Great. I'll do this myself. Computer muted.” This impatient 'Alfred' snapped, giving a dismissal wave with a free arm. The voice was cut off in the middle of very pleasant nagging about personal hygiene and caring for ship parts.

“So. Here's some food, and I have entire _cycles_ to figure what species you are.” Alfred informed happily. His strange translator provided words that didn't match with his mouth, much like a badly dubbed film.

Eyeing the tray of partially filled bowls, Ivan decided to give up his bluff of ignorance. He wasn't gaining anything by pretending not to know English. He was uncertain if he was still completely fluent after six years of neglect.

“I... I know English. You have food?” Ivan admitted, stomach growling painfully. After a year of stale nutrient crackers and old water, the starving Russian was ready for any sort of improvement. Inching closer to the tray, there was dull gelatinous looking substances in bright blue bowls.

“So it speaks! Great! Who are you?” Alfred asked, as he plopped on a rubbery bench opposite Ivan.

“I am called Ivan.” the man offered simply, grabbing a bowl of mystery goo. It smelt terrible, like rotting garbage. Bravely tasting a droplet, Ivan wanted to vomit immediately. Almost throwing the food on the plush floor, he managed to keep his act together and put it on the table with disdain.

“This species of Ivan is so tall, and I'm very surprised you didn't like the pudding. Its the 32nd most popular flavour of my solar system. Oh, is that the hair I heard to much about?” Alfred gushed, clearly a curious sort of fellow. He bounced about on his many tentacle legs as he spoke, but it was really squishing around more than any sort of jump.

Ivan prickled defensively, retreating again. “Is there any food here I can actually eat?” he asked stiffly, fashioning the blanket into a sort of toga.

“If you don't try anything funny, I'll take you the kitchen. Mattie has all sorts of stuff in there.”

The offer was too good to be true, but Ivan was a very hungry man. “Yes fine. Let's go.”

Without so much a look, Alfred babbled on about his work as he waved at possible motion sensors around the door. Following quietly Ivan soaked in any words offered to him. The halls were the stereotypical white one always saw in films, despite it being the hardest to keep clean. Ivan would know, once a custodian on board the nearly generational ISS that protected the earth.

So many white hall ways dirtied with space dust prints.

Alfred was a 'salvage specialist', searching the depths of his assigned area for stranded ships. He seemed proud of his work, bragging how drones were chopping up Ivan's 'shit box of a ship' at that very moment. The news didn't really reach Ivan, who was lost to basic functions for the time being.

An alien kitchen was nearly identical to a human one, complete with a refrigeration unit and fully stocked cupboards. Going off smell alone, most of the 'food' was a farce. Pangs of unsatisfied hunger drove Ivan to look in every tiny space.

Due to living in high stress environments with nothing to do for years, Ivan had a rigorous work out schedule. He had maintained it religiously until a few months ago, when he lost access to the cramped gym room. The result was immense strength that saved him on many occasions.

Smelling something sweet, Ivan discovered a locked cabinet. It had an ominous looking label in cubic script, no less than three flimsy locks on the door. Ignoring warnings to keep away by his obnoxious host, Ivan improvised a crow bar from a decorative object on the wall.

The locks popped off with ease, the aroma of chocolate filling his nostrils. Grabbing a foil wrapped treat, Ivan sat on the floor and began his feast. Oh how long had it been since the socially starved Russian had eaten his favourite treat? He could imagine the rich orchestra of flavours already, and he hadn't even unwrapped the small brick of sweets.

“No! No stop that! Fuckin' shit, do you want to die!?” Alfred screeched, trying to take the chocolate away. Ivan turned his back to the berating figure, biting into the dark brown food.

“Mattie! Mattie! He's eating pest poison! Mattie!” Alfred yelled around him.

Swallowing a small chunk of chocolate, Ivan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Computer sound on.” he requested to the surroundings, resuming feasting on the chocolate. It was easily the best Ivan had ever consumed, every crumb treasured and sucked on. The man moaned in appreciation, closing his eyes as he relaxed for the first time in ages.

“Mattie, he's still eating the poison! He's suicidal!” Alfred yelled, watching helplessly.

“I'm not happy with you.” the computer sulked after a few seconds of nothingness.

“I'll make it up to you by getting you professionally washed, just tell me why the Ivan isn't super dying.” Alfred offered, wringing both his tentacles and his hands nervously.

“Ivan is a name, not a species. It's a common name, if I diagnosed the species correctly.” the computer supplied, speaking further when Alfred gestured to do so. “Intergalactic Wildlife Federation identified this species as #JUD7-8-9021, better known as hoomin.”

“Human. It's pronounced human.” Ivan corrected, having killed the entire large chocolate bar. He began rooting around the rest of the lovely treat stuffed cabinet. Spying a bottle at the back, he eagerly unscrewed the cap and took a whiff. Ah the eloquence that was good alcohol. Taking a swig, The blanket clad man smiled.

“Humans are critically endangered omnivores primarily from System #JUD7-8-0042. They are a primitive space faring society. They are binary gendered, and quite violent. This one is a 'male', which is considered more dangerous than egg carrying 'females'.”

“So... These creatures are rare, which means a lot of credits for me?” Alfred asked, grinning again. He looked to Ivan with that freckled tan face, looking far too pleased about the possibility of these 'credits'.

“No. They are prohibited for sale by the Xelonia Drug and Food Administration. They are known disease carriers, immune to most industrial poisons. They require a special diet as well.” This 'Mattie' replied rather seriously.

“So it's an extra special _fancy_ pet we sell to an official or something.”

“No. For so many reasons, no.” the computer seemed less than impressed with his companion.

“Your computer is so much smarter than mine. I'd love to see the wiring some time.” Ivan commented, thoroughly entertained by the conversation.

The quick wits of the computer seemed stumped at this, followed by a modest “Thank you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere human. If you're poisonous, I'm getting you off my ship as soon as possible.” Alfred huffed, digging out that awful pen shaped device again.

“It's not flattery, I'm a trained engineer. Nuclear fission engines and electronics are my specialty. Well, I can do plumbing too, but it's not my best skill.” Ivan's sharp response made the arrogant alien's jaw go slack in surprise. “What, you thought I was a dumb beast that lived in a vacuum?” he further sneered.

Alfred composed itself, or maybe himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe.” he admitted, putting the pen away.

“If he's a trained electrician, I could have use for him.” the computer suggested, continuing on more bravely as Alfred scowled. “You haven't cleaned my mainframe in a while, and any toxic secretions he gives off won't affect me.”

“There must be something profitable we can do with it.” the alien scowled.

“Intergalactic Wildlife Federation advises you return the creature unharmed to it's native habitat, and no charges will be pressed.” Mattie informed. Anticipating his apparent master's next request, he continued speaking. “The closest appropriate planet will take 1,206,331.8 cycles to reach at our current speed.”

Alfred looked stunned, or so Ivan thought as he drank casually. The pleasant burn of the unknown alcohol felt heavenly after years without it. The tanned possible male paced on soft looking tentacles, shooting an angry glare at a very satisfied Russian.

“That's two damn galaxies away. We'd be dead before we arrived. How did you get here? You're supposed to be a primitive!” Alfred all but shouted in frustration.

Ivan shrugged, replying “Where can I go for a piss? I've been holding it in forever.”

“Matthew can show you. Don't touch anything with your weird goo or I'm ejecting you into space.” His host threatened, slithering off in a huff.

Light up tiles on the very white floor showed the way to a small blue room with a hole in the floor. Ivan was thankful the computer silently left instructions on how to use the room. It was weird enough the omnipresent operating system knew what he was doing. Talking to Ivan during the process would have made things unbearably awkward.

Now mildly buzzed and no longer starving, Ivan wandered the halls, locating a window to the outside world. In plain view, the graceful burnt out husk known as the _S.S. Horizon_ was neatly sliced up by small robots resembling shiny baseballs.

Ivan was stranded two galaxies away on an alien salvage ship. All of the Roscosmos crew, including his older cousin Katerina, were long dead. His old life was over, and he knew it.

Staring at the ship as it began resembling stacks of metal plates, heavy tears came to the Russian's eyes. They blurred his vision until he could look no more. Until his chest heaved and burned with sorrow. The ship's operating system seemed to have more social tact then the owner, not interrupting his noisy sobbing.

What was he supposed to do now?


	4. Chapter 4

The first week, Ivan was rarely bothered as he secluded himself in his fuzzy red room. After drinking all of the 'alcohol' and finding little else, the waning Russian was sure he would die. After an entire day with nothing to eat, Ivan languished in his freshly cleaned engineer's jumpsuit. After a few vocal arguments with his own ship, Alfred had squelched off in irritated manner to complete research on human food requirements.

After a day or two of stubbornly denying what was probably poison from the tentacle imbecile that was his captor, the tanned creature seemingly gave up on personally assisting. It was a proud yet stupid decision Ivan now regretted as he wasted away.

Weakened and exhausted, the ash blond stared at the ceiling dismally. “Hello Ivan. How are you feeling today?” Matthew asked, it's vaguely electronic voice clipping up in concern. The plethora of ways he could answer such a simple question. His mind was a turbulent sea of unanswered questions and undesirable answers.

“I'm hungry.” Ivan admitted, clutching his gut. It groaned audibly on his behalf, painfully hollow.

“We put together some materials you may be able to subsist on in the kitchen. I analyzed stale carbohydrate discs discovered in the wrecked ship, and cross referenced them to all available substances on board.” the artificial being offered.

With resignation, the man discarded his personal ego and caved to the token of diplomacy.

“Spasiba Matvey. I will go there.” Ivan uttered, pushing himself up. It was tiring to walk today. What was normally a short stroll seemed to take an eternity. Plopping into a red chair at the table, a delicious smelling feast seemed to present itself. Alfred himself wore some kind of gas mask, standing several metres away from the table. Before him was a heaping bowl of what looked like scallops fried with leafy red vegetables.

Eating this would be difficult. Much like the Japanese, The lone inhabitant of this ship didn't believe in traditional earth cutlery. After a moment, Ivan picked up a 'scallop', lightly squeezing the pale pink disc of assumed meat. It didn't feel or look poisonous.

“Oh stars, he's _touching_ it.” The tentacled alien gasped in horror. Ivan ignored this, popping the morsel in his mouth. There was further protests of “He ate it. He fucking ate it. I can't believe he ate it!” as Alfred looked ready to throw up.

“He will cease to live if he does not.” the computer reminded him lightly.

Ivan hummed in happy manner, this little treat the first ray of sunshine in his grey world. The mystery meat had been fried in a lovely sweet sauce. The vegetables were lightly seared, retaining some crunch. It was a pleasant dinner, and the first not to come from a foil pack in years. As he ate, his soul was light with relief, with gratitude. As he shoveled another handful of the meal into his deprived body, he knew he wasn't going to die.

Covered chin to suit in saucy mess, Ivan smiled brightly as he emptied the bowl. He wasn't going to die, thank god he wasn't going to die! “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Ivan murmured, cheeks flush with joy.

“It's okay big guy. I can't have guests dying on me. Besides, If you didn't eat that, I'd have to resort to this fuzzy thing that smells bad.” Alfred accepted the praise easily, holding up a terrified Vladislav in a perforated transparent ball.

“Vladya! You are alive! I was so scared for you!” Ivan cried out, nearly knocking the table over in his rush to retrieve his frightened mouse friend. Startled by the immediate movement, Alfred froze up as the ball was snatched out of his four fingered grip.

Unscrewing the top of the spherical container, the rodent bolted out of his prison and into Ivan's front pocket. Sniffing sauce spills, it started nibbling the stains hungrily. Gently scooping the delicate creature out of the pocket, Ivan placed his companion in the empty bowl. Vladislav greedily set to work, licking the dish clean one tiny swipe at a time.

“Oh gross! It's touching my stuff!” Alfred squealed like a little girl, backing away.

“He is my best little friend, a little fluff of joy. Aren't you, little Vladka? You are!” Ivan explained, fawning over the rodent as it feasted and squeaked. There was truly no creature cuter in this.

“Species #JUD7-8-1577012, commonly called Mouse. A known disease carrier highly adaptive to most environments. I recommend termination before it begins chewing me.” the voice of Matthew informed coolly with clear disdain.

“No! He is my friend!” Ivan defended angrily, snatching dirty bowl and mouse from the table top. Seemingly put off by the rodent, Alfred quickly fled the scene. Ivan cared little, simply happy to have his tiny buddy back.

The soured relations between Ivan and the rest of the ship only seemed to improve beyond the strained first impression. After building a small cage for Vladislav, Matthew seemed appeased enough to let the frail creature live.

Alfred more talked at him than with him, but it was better than the stifling silence of the first month. It seemed Alfred was incapable of staying silent when given any sort of person to converse around. The one sided socialization was draining, but still better than his old existence of isolation and busywork.

Busywork there was much of here. Still not trusted at first, Ivan was given lesser tasks to kill time. This largely consisted of picking up trash and cleaning up after meals. Soon Ivan's old custodial job made a sudden revival. Ivan would whistle merry tunes as he mopped up every metre of the more public areas. In this manner, the engineer within began memorizing it's new charge.

Alfred's ship, known as the _Ranger_ , was twice the size of the now dismantled _S.S. Horizon_. The impressive ship had 13 rooms, seen as a sign of luck instead of misfortune among Alfred's kind. All the rooms were piercing blues, whites, and reds which were nearly impossible to keep clean. Most of the ship had electrical wiring like on earth, but core regions had 'organic circuitry' immune to overloading. This was a new type of material Ivan was itching to learn about.

It seemed Matthew, the ship's fully automated operating system, was less than keen on sharing it's secrets. Until Ivan saw Alfred defragmenting Matthew via keyboard, he had been certain the entity was a real man in hiding. The artificial mind seemed modest about its extreme intelligence, voice modulators stuttering slightly whenever it was paid a compliment.

Three months soon passed. Two more derelict ships had fallen prey to Alfred's salvage drones in that time frame. He did extensive field work himself, extracting valuable computers and engines by hand. Often left to his own devices for hours, Ivan took to tinkering with older fission engines. Some of them worked after, others not so much.

It was during such tinkering that the first passable conversation between living beings occurred. Alfred in general had been skittish all morning, avoiding eye contact more than normal. Entering an old storage room that Ivan took as a workshop, a tentacle waved at him as Alfred appeared carrying heaps of papers.

“Hey. So. Big news.” Alfred greeted, fanged mouth moving out of time to English words. Thank god for Matthew's translator services. Ivan grunted in response, not bothering to waste words. Alfred went on unhindered. “I have to go Sinjar and sell cargo. It's a grounded city. Whatever. The ship is getting full. I have to make a supply run, get fresh parts... Get you some things so you don't die...”

The last sentence caught Ivan's attention. Other than making sure Ivan ate everyday, the tentacled alien hadn't cared about the lonely Russian in the slightest.

“Sinjar isn't a nice place, and I can't have Matthew as back up. I'd never get his 200 tonne ass off the ground again.”

Sensing the hint, Ivan set down the hydraulics cables he was playing with and straightened his posture. He wouldn't say the obvious though. He needed to hear it, hear that he was actually needed. The pale human needed it like a thirsty man needed water.

“... and you happen to be tall and bone filled, and scary as fuck. And I'm... a cartilage kind of guy.” Alfred added after a beat of silence, starting to frown.

That was as close as the proud alien was going to get, wasn't he? “You need my help.” Ivan stated, reaching a verbal compromise.

“We arrive in 23 hours, so... yeah. You'll need a weapon. Um, okay. Recycle this for me.” Alfred ordered, quick to abandon the situation. Looking at the heaps of records left behind on the floor, the human chuckled. It all only confirmed what made Ivan so joyous. He was going to visit other alien cultures, as a job that was necessary.

Ivan Braginsky finally had an official purpose after six terrible years.


	5. Chapter 5

The _Ranger_ approached the Sinjar space port locked in orbit above the dirty blue planet. Honestly, Ivan was very disappointed. The docking structure resembled the concrete buildings of earth. There was no Hollywood glamour, neon lights, or even visible metal functions. It was exactly like a polluted chunk of Moscow hoisted into space. Not the gleaming alien marvel of technology Ivan had fed by movies and literature.

Both Ivan and Alfred wore dull travel clothes, simple air filters over their faces. “This race has a weird air preference. It always smells like farts.” his host had warned in an off hand way. The smaller being was entirely correct.

The second the double sealed door to the space port slid open, Ivan visibly winced. It was a horrible stench, like a decaying corpse. Dark skinned aliens swarmed in the distance, carrying goods to and fro in both sets of arms. A few other races were seen, bargaining at pop-up stalls that littered the once clean halls. Some of these darker folk could even pass as human if it wasn't for the green glowing eyes and extra upper limbs. Wait, did they have... claws?

Wondering what he was stepping into, Ivan mutely followed. Easily the squishiest thing in this busy market, Alfred had every right to be scared. Ignoring the buzzing jumbles of languages around him, Ivan remained close to his employer.

“I don't like this. Why do you always have to sell in Sinjar? It's unsafe.” Matthew fretted through an ear piece Ivan was instructed to wear. “Because they buy dirty steel, Mattie. You know that.” Alfred dismissed, his translated voice almost lost to the crowds.

Past the clogged lobby, there was a graffiti covered shuttle bay. A shady looking fellow casually smoked a cigarette with his upper arms, while his lower ones crossed tensely. As Alfred casually waved with a tentacle, the stranger gestured for the duo to approach. Dimly glowing eyes seemed to scrutinize them despite lacking obvious pupils.

“You the steel guy?” the other greeted, his voice dubbed to a humorous Jamaican accent. Ivan felt the accent was too jovial for a guy this gruff.

“What's it to you?” Alfred countered cheerfully, surprisingly at ease in the toxic setting.

After a brief stare down, sky blue irises versus lime green orbs, Ivan began to feel uneasy. The silence broke, with the stranger cracking in a crooked grin. “Boss wasn't lyin'. You got nerves. Come on, I'll give you a lift to Carlo's place. Who's the muscle?” he asked, his breath somehow worst than the present atmosphere.

“Just muscle. Nothing else.” Alfred dismissed, with a flick of a tentacle.

Ivan didn't like how they climbed into a sleek flying craft that was jammed with armed goons. He didn't like the visible layers of orange smog that seemed to choke the endless concrete city far below. He didn't like that they landed on the roof of an opulent mansion surrounded by crumbling urban slums. The entire situation stank of bad judgment calls and death. It stunk in general.

Ushered through the exotic green and turquoise mansion, Alfred slipped off his breathing mask as a sign of respect. Ivan followed suit, even if the air was still cringe worthy. More goons toted weapons that resembled a hybrid of tasers and Gothic swords.

All of this was such a terrible idea. This was only confirmed when the signal to Matthew was sharply cut off. The connection was likely jammed from inside the building, a 'standard' security feature. He had been warned of such a possibility, but to lose all language comprehension was terrifying. Ivan was no better than a dog without instruction now.

The low sounds and reptilian noises that consisted of Alfred's mother tongue seemed to rule here. Ivan desperately listened. He pulled nothing of substantial meaning. All the while he wore a mask of absolute frigidity. They settled in a vast room of golds and pinks, matching furniture at its centre. A four armed man with shades was dressed to impress, flanked on either side by obvious alien soldiers.

Not understanding a thing, Ivan mostly observed the over all mood of the space. It all seemed jovial enough with a shaking of various limbs in greeting, then everyone sat on plush backless loungers and got to business.

Everything felt fine enough, until the guy in the suit snarled something, slamming one fist on the table. Alfred's clicks and sounds seemed to bolt up in volume as he clearly lost his cool. Something resembling a circular credit card and a stuffed fabric bag were tossed on the table.

Alfred responded with friendly tentacle gestures, but wilted when this 'Carlos' guy across from them snarled something back. Standing, the dark skinned alien made a threatening gesture. Two guys began to come over, grinning. In an instant, Alfred shrivelled to a pale caramel while clutching the filled bag and weird circle.

Bad. This was all bad! Reacting purely on instinct, Ivan tossed Alfred over one shoulder and ran. He ran like never before, years of jogging on the treadmill paying off. Bolting through the colourful halls, Ivan reached an elaborate deck with a pool, overlooking concrete squalor far below. Without a second of hesitation, he leaped over the glass and gold fence and landed on the roof of a neighbouring building. The fall hurt like nothing before, his ankles aching from the titanic impact.

Hearing the zap of otherworldly guns firing behind him, Ivan pushed on and ran. His heart pounded as he narrowed to one simple purpose: escape alive. Going through crowds, past carts, and down alley ways. All the grey concrete looked the same to him. Ivan pressed on until his lungs burned with this terrible atmosphere and its lack of clean oxygen. Moved until his ankles screamed.

Putting a terrified Alfred down on dirty gravel, Ivan collapsed after a time. Laying in this dour forsaken alley way, the human caved to basic needs and fatigue. “Did... did I do good?” he asked between ragged pants, in terrible wracking pain.

“You did great. You did great big guy. You're bleeding. Shit. Um. You did good! You're a very good boy.” the other frantically soothed as he started applying pressure to Ivan's aching chest. Looking down weakly, Ivan saw a great red stain on his new white shirt. He hadn't even noticed getting shot in all the confusion of their escape.

Head now resting on a bed of Alfred's tentacles, they were as squishy as he imagined. They were also far from dry. Apparently in times of great distress, Alfred sweated like no other. It distantly made sense. He was rather difficult to hold onto towards the end of their flight, fairly slippery. So bad guys couldn't keep a hold on him, maybe. Ivan wasn't really sure. Aliens were weird.

“Mattie! Mattie! We're leaving early. Get the magnetic converters warmed up! I need the medical room ready!” Alfred ordered to the heavens. A quizzical “Yes Alfred” piped in through the poor connection of Ivan's ear piece. Relieved, Ivan sighed and finally relaxed. He wasn't going to die!

After being carted on board in a stolen wheel barrow, Ivan was pampered like never before. Far beyond Sinjar authority, the boys were in the debris ring of a small opalescent gas giant. Parked safely in the crevice of an asteroid, The ship was in standby mode as basic repairs were made.

Lounging on a couch Alfred had drones drag in, Ivan was wrapped in every comfort he could want. Heavily bandaged and immobile, the gesture meant more than ever. Alfred wore a gas mask as he fed the injured man a motley mix of fried parasites scraped off the hull and leafy greens that were usually discarded at markets.

It was possibly Ivan's favourite food so far, as he pretended it was lobster and salad in his own mind. It certainly tasted like that.

“Open up!” Alfred cooed, chopsticks loaded with another morsel. He seemed perpetually happy since being rescued, doting on Ivan and raising his status from 'cargo' to 'employee' on the computer's registry. Vladislav was allowed to hang out with them too. Of course, this was after a very thorough medical check up ensured the friendly mouse was not infectious.

Ivan let himself be fed, smiling graciously. This level of interaction, of actually touching and being with another, was something he savoured. It wasn't really the kind of touching he wanted, but beggars couldn't be picky. As Vladislav perched, nibbling on a 'scallop' meat lump, Ivan hummed with contentment. 

When the bowl was empty, it was sent far away to be aired out. After a few minutes, Alfred took off his gas mask and set it aside. “Your food smells like shit man.” he stated, ever the eloquent one.

“Thank you for feeding me.” Ivan replied sweetly, completely drunk on high strength pain killers. Everything was just fantastic right now.

“You _saved_ me. No one ever saves me. Of course I can feed you.” the tanned companion praised, a spare tentacle squeezing Ivan's wrist. The suckered grip was spongy and warm, yet firm.

A week after being shot in the chest, Ivan found several pleasant discoveries. Alfred was hardly reptilian at all, the diamond pattern of his tentacles not scaly or dry in the slightest. After spending more than one minute with the guy in a room, it was clear how high maintenance he was. The vain creature dabbed himself down with a towel at least once a day, and showered diligently.

This certainly explained the odd residue messes in the halls. More surprising was the moisture Alfred secreted. Despite claims of smelling foul, it was pleasant and varied. It shifted between vanilla and strawberry to the eternally hungry Russian.

What if Alfred tasted... Blushing faintly, Ivan banished such thoughts before they could be completed. He was just horny and wanted a snack simultaneously. Never a good combination, if university memories were anything to go by.

“So. Why did Carlos try to kill us?” Ivan asked, as he was mopped clean with a cloth.

“Well, It's... He's... We used to be steel traders together in a fleet. We were even kinda friends? But I fucked up, got a little greedy on some deals. Maybe caused him health problems, with... um, you know? It doesn't really matter. But shit happened. Now I need a new seller for 78 tons of unregistered scrap, and I'm pretty sure I'm never visiting Sinjar ever again.” Alfred danced around the subject nervously.

“What health problems?” Ivan asked curiously.

“He made Carlos pregnant while drunk on the job. I was the operating system for his old cargo vessel, which he _puked_ inside of.” Matthew explained with disdain while Vladislav chased lit up tiles on the floor.

“I'm sorry about that! But, but... Mat! You can't just say that!” Alfred protested, glaring at the central camera in the ceiling.

“He has employee clearance. He can request any information about possible health risks in the work place. Xelonian laws state –” Matthew replied calmly, only to be cut off.

“Yes! Fuck! I know! Why the hell did I get that legal upgrade for you?” The alien complained as he blushed dark brown in shame.

The computer, sharp as ever, replayed a grainy audio recording right back “... because I love you lil' computer buddy! We gotta keep you sharp with new upgrades!” the voice of an obviously younger Alfred praised.

Present day Alfred hid in his face in folded arms on Ivan's chest. Entirely entertained by this, the bandaged man silently enjoyed himself. It was nice to be touched as well, something he craved badly. It had never occurred to him how much humans needed physical companionship until all of the crew on the _S.S. Horizon_ died.

Sulking once again, Alfred finished cleaning Ivan's recently shaved face. He was quick to flee further scrutiny, using machine repairs as an excuse to avoid questions about his biology. Ivan wasn't concerned in the slightest. This was the type of lewd banter he had seen before, between other students and cosmonauts. Chatter of coworkers, or siblings.

Ivan was finally one of the boys.


	6. Chapter 6

Things only improved as the months past by. Having gained Alfred's trust, Ivan actually saw him more than ten minutes a day. Recovering from being shot in the chest was a trying and painful journey, but one that didn't dampen the stubborn Cosmonaut's spirits. 

Determined to spend more time with living beings, Ivan was finally allowed to work alongside his employer after four months. It was a highly prized luxury to chatter with an equal as he directed chopping drones or explored long abandoned ships drifting in the void.

Ivan's first mistake as a newly minted 'salvage specialist' was expecting life aboard his first 'chop job'. The dead ship of the week was the shape of an almond, the colour of liquid mercury. Ivan was ready to go in a newly fitted chrome space suit, complete with gas propulsion pack and a thermal cutting tool.

“Now, remember big guy. If there's something you don't know, buzz me over the helmet speakers.” Alfred repeated for the third time, as they waited in the airlock room. The probable male seemed nervous about having a new 'side kick' as Ivan was now referred to.

Gently squeezing a tentacle protected by flexible tubing sleeves, Ivan replied “I will be fine Fedya. I survived years without assistance in deep space. I have common sense.”

Due to radiation protection tinted helmets, no expressions could be determined. The body language was more than enough. Alfred's rigid posture relaxed as he holstered his cutting tool on his belt. The protected appendage in Ivan's hand tentatively wrapped around a finger. It then retreated back under Alfred's bulk with a dozen others, resuming it's job of holding up weight.

“I am now in position. Stay tethered and stay safe. I can't help you if something goes bad. Skiffs tend degrade quickly from solar radiation.” Matthew informed, beginning to slide open thick doors.

“I'll be fine. I always am.” Alfred replied automatically, then his bulbous helmet turned to Ivan. “Uh, we'll be okay.” His voice added hastily over the comm systems of their suits. Ivan felt warm at being included in the sentence. It was so good to have work comrades!

The 'skiff' really was tiny, no longer than a few rooms of the _Ranger_ they were leaving. It was no more than a speed boat in comparison to some monstrously large ships. Alfred not bothering to refuel and start up the drones was now completely understandable.

As they carefully piloted with brief bursts of canister gas to the dead craft, Alfred talked more. “So the cyclical ammonia injection engines in these speedy fellas are worth a fortune. I'm going to take the front where the engine should be. You take the back. Remember, computers are cash.”

“Computers are cash.” Ivan echoed, landing with a soft bump onto the asteroid pitted hull. Looking beneath his metal space boots at the wreck, he asked “Where do we start?”

There was a brief jaunt of hissing laughter over the speakers, then Alfred shrugged and started chopping away like a lunatic. Grinning, Ivan followed suit. Salvaging, as it turned out, was incredibly fun. After 30 minutes of chopping up mostly intact wall sections, Ivan's thermal metal saw ran out of charge. Pouting with stuck up lip, Ivan activated his helmet communicator.

“My fancy laser saw isn't lighting up. Do I go back to grab a fresh one?” Ivan asked, never able to recall the tool's long silly name.

The connection between them was weaker due to thick signal jamming hull. Alfred's southern twang voice came in scratchy and distorted. “Entering and leaving airlock takes fuckin' forever. Look around, see what tools you need first.”

“Yes boss.” Ivan chirped, ever smiling.

“Stop being so cheesy!” the other replied through the static.

The ash blonde chuckled and turned off his microphone, pulling himself along in zero gravity. This ship didn't suffer occasionally low ceilings like Alfred's, which was nice. As he drifted, the man batted floating wrappers and stray objects out of his way. Whoever owned this place certainly didn't clean up after himself.

A white halo of light projected from his helmet, piercing the pitch black of the abandoned hall. Everything seemed inactive, trained electrician's eyes seeing extensive damage. “The rest of this place is scrap. No computers, no wires. Someone tried to survive in here at long as possible.” Ivan reported.

“Just like you. Your ship was nothing but shit and scrap metal.” a crackling voice teased.

That meant the possibility of a room still in operation. A man still alive. A new friend! Discovering a door, Ivan examined it excitedly. There was a green glowing icon on the door, indicating something in cubic alien symbols.

“Matvey! Matvey! What is these words!?” Ivan asked, angling a small pocket camera so the artificial intelligence could see. “This room is currently live and filled with breathable atmosphere.” the computer informed softly.

“I found a live room, Mr. Boss man sir.” Ivan reported in cheeky manner, as cheesy as he could manage. Alfred, despite the protests, seemed to either not notice the slow increase of affection, or wilfully engage it on some level. Ivan couldn't help the needy behaviour, after years of isolation.

“Okay, coming over.” Alfred replied. A minute later, the familiar figure drifted in around the corner, The alien waved, then inspected the door. He rested a four fingered hand on the door. “I'm not opening this while you watch.” his employer's voice informed.

“This is on the job training. I want to stay.” Ivan argued, crossing his arms.

“This room doesn't have a temperature gauge, and It's a Mastrix 310 series. Fucking cheap construction. So no matter what's in there, I can guarantee there is at least one frozen dead person.” Alfred reasoned, throwing around ship model references that the Russian didn't recognize.

When Ivan stayed floating in that one spot stubbornly, Alfred gave a frustrated gesture of hands. Pulling the thermal saw from it's protective holster, the alien chopped the sealed door open. The spring loaded door slid open in an instant, revealing its contents.

In the small room, next to a cubed generator, was a humanoid in bulky red space gear. A yellow light dragged long shadows over the gruesome corpse, eyes half popped out of a frost cracked face. Frozen pink stains on it's face hinted at something even worse. Another dead figure was half pulled out of it's suit, missing an entire face and arm. The clear indent of teeth was abundant on the icy white corpse. Pink ice crystals blossomed out of the viscera like terribly beautiful flowers.

Ivan stared in horror, unable to look away.

Over the frequency, Ivan could hear Alfred's near eternal chattering. “Mattie, we got two floaters. I'm going to grab blood samples so they can be identified.”

“I'm going to recharge the saws.” Ivan managed to speak, voice shaking.

“Okay, take mine with you. I'll clean this mess up.” Alfred volunteered, oblivious to the tone used. Unbuckling the tool belt, it was a slow motion toss until the belt bumped into Ivan's broad armoured chest. Numbly, Ivan grabbed the item and tugged on his fabric tether to guide himself out. After the lengthy airlock process to re-enter Matthew's ship, Ivan felt to his knees. It was a combination of re-entering gravity and emotional trauma.

“Your pulse and hormone levels are quite unusual. Do you need the atmosphere content of your suit adjusted?” Matthew politely offered upon his entry, just as emotionally incapable as his owner.

“No. I'm not used to zero gravity. I just need a minute.” Ivan lied, shucking off his space gear in a hurry. Dumping the armour on the floor, the man ran to the bathroom. The second that door slid shut and locked, Ivan doubled over with the need to vomit. Overrun with primitive fear and disgust, he shook as he emptied himself into the floor drain hole.

When there was nothing left to heave, Ivan curled up into the foetal position. A some point, Alfred's radio fuzzed voice interrupted his internal screaming. “Hey. It's been twenty minutes. Where are you? I finished extracting the engine ages ago.” the irritated voice informed from a speaker in the wall.

“Sorry Fedya. Zero gravity sickness. I'm coming back now.” Ivan lied with a false confident tone, willing himself to move.

Ivan didn't know how he managed to return to that wretched ship. On emotionally frozen autopilot, the terrified ash blonde did his duty. He chopped up the rear of the ship in fast enough time, loading perfect sheets of metal into a zero gravity cargo hatch on the underside of the _Ranger_.

Later that day, Ivan poked his early dinner as Alfred went on about a new film playing on the holographic projectors. In the sweet brown sauce, small fried fruits and leaves stared at him. Like eyes. Like the eyes of that frozen distorted creature. Eyes that watched him. That awful being snapping and cricking from fractured frost as it crawled towards him. To harm Ivan. To _eat_ Ivan.

“Hey bud. You're zoning out again.” Alfred teased with a sharp looking smile.

“Oh. I'm not hungry. I need a nap.” Ivan explained poorly in broken short sounds, standing suddenly and nearly knocking over his chair.

“Well, okay. I guess. No movies then.” Alfred offered with a shrug, frowning just the slightest.

Retreating to his room, it felt like a struggle to breathe. Whipping the covers off his bed, Ivan buried himself in his secret hoard of treasures. It was filthy laundry to anyone else, but it was _Alfred's_. Given Ivan's peculiar dietary needs, almost everything on this ship was horrible to his delicate senses.

The discover of Alfred's sweat smelling like strawberries had be a strange one. It had started months ago, when the slob left a work uniform in the hall. Ivan hesitated over returning the piece, desperate to capture a sensation of his long gone earth. It was just one measly uniform. Nothing anyone would miss.

Until it was not just one uniform, but two, then a towel or three. Ivan should feel guilty, but he simply didn't. The unholy sights spied upon that wrecked ship vanished the second he flopped into that strawberry pile of softness, at least for now. Oh sweet strawberries he missed so!

It was a few hours when Ivan jolted from rest. Soul shattering visions of frozen space zombies eating helpless cosmonaut flesh haunted him. Taking in a deep breath, Ivan draped an old shirt of Alfred's over his face. It was no good. The scent was wearing off, and his technical boss was starting to get mad. Apparently half his clothes going missing was something to get angry over.

A hour later, Ivan was at Alfred's door. He knocked on the door, then glanced at the washed and folded clothes in a hamper beside him. Should the tall male tell the truth, that he stole the uniforms? Should he say nothing, pushing them in the room and fleeing?

There was no response to a second rapping of knuckles on metal. Option number two seemed to be the only one, thankfully. Due to Alfred's own wandering mind, he had yet to set limits in Matthew's files on what 'employee' status granted. Ivan was not abusing this lack of thought often. Mostly he ordered the odd brick of pest control poison, the very same substance that was a delicious chocolate substitute. Matthew was baffled he didn't die from eating rat poison as a snack, but never questioned it.

Today, employee status would used to enter this room without permission, it seemed.

Flashing a circular ID card at the door, Ivan watched the door slide open. Inside was a chaotic place of clutter and bad lighting. A wall screen played a mostly 2-d film about Xelonian space commandos fighting a squid monster at low volume. It seemed movies never changed, regardless of what galaxy you were in.

Alfred was passed out cold in a plush chair shaped like a tipped bowl, leaning to one side. His hand was still in a bag of chips. Sulphurous smelling bottles were scattered around him. Since this place was opposite land in terms of food, Ivan could safely guess the bottles once held a drink or a soda. Walking inside carefully, Ivan set the hamper of laundry beside the violently blue oval bed. Spotting a soiled shirt on the floor, Ivan grabbed it and inhaled hungrily. Oh sweet strawberry delights!

During this, a rolling bottle noise was heard. Ivan froze with wide eyes, wrinkled clothes still pressed to his face. Alfred was awake, ever blue eyes squinting at him in the dim of room. Sitting up, the alien purred and clicked a question at him, guessing from the upward inflections.

Shit. Matthew wasn't here to translate. Despising all body fluids, the advanced computer refused to monitor personal rooms or the toilet. In Matthew's own words, he would “corrupt his own files from the disparity of uncleanliness awaiting such information.”

When Alfred repeated the question, he tried to stand but failed horribly. He then burst into his own distinctive hissing laughter on the floor, many appendages wriggling with mirth. A stunning realization came to Ivan.

His alien boss, Alfred, was completely drunk off his tentacles.

Unsure if Ivan should do anything about this, he dropped the shirt and approached slowly. Drunks, regardless of species, should not be left alone. With a small giggle, Alfred lazily reached from the floor for assistance. Ivan helped silently, hoisting the fool over one shoulder like a baby. Keeping a hold of the guy was as difficult as a dozen squirming cats.

Both his normally behaved tendril 'hair' and tentacles coiled around anything they could find. Dumping the drunk on the bed was an almost impossible task, given how entangled Ivan was after thirty seconds.

“No. Not the buttons. Not the –” There was a popping and ripping sound as Ivan cursed in Russian. Alfred looked pleased with a half lidded gaze, the torn section of shirt clutched in his many grips. “You did that on purpose! You are being very misbehaved right now!” Ivan scolded, wagging a finger.

Six strong limbs reached and coiled around Ivan, yanking him onto the mattress. “Stop this! It is not proper!” Ivan protested. Alfred was quickly on top with a predatory smirk, the Russian bound and still beneath him. Was Alfred going to... do something? The thought was highly uncomfortable even if a tiny fraction of Ivan was practically screaming for any kind of sexual encounter. Eight dry years could do that to anyone.

Just as quickly as the possibly malicious encounter begin, it ended. The exceedingly drunk Alfred grumbled something, yawned, and promptly passed out on Ivan's chest. He was softly snoring in under five minutes. Ivan's limber bindings relaxed only slightly, still preventing escape. Stuck and surprisingly comfortable, Ivan surrendered easily to his current situation. It could be... nice, not sleeping alone. Even if for one night.

With that pleasant thought, the sleep deprived Russian finally relaxed into restful slumber.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning after, Ivan woke abruptly as heavy weight shifted on his chest. “What! What is it!?” he complained thickly in Russian, cracking a sleep encrusted eye open. Alfred was sitting on him, hands to his face in shock. He seemed to be staring at Ivan's chest, and the ruined shirt that barely covered it.

“Oh. Good morning. Not that you can understand me.” Ivan greeted gruffly. Sitting up with now freed hands. This brought him to eye level with his boss, who looked to be suffering mental damage right now. Not alert in any capacity, the Russian giggled and fell his to impulses. He hugged the shorter being tightly, before rudely dumping the tanned alien on the bed. Yawning, Ivan stretched as he left. Lazily scratching his chest, Ivan returned to his own room. His walking was paused when silken goo clung to his finger nails.

Looking down, his clothes were soaked and stained with memorable orange discharge. It took a long minute to remember where he encountered this before.

Alfred's dirty laundry! The drunk fool must have sweat all over Ivan in the night. A curious thought, yet a very terrible one came to mind. Hiding from Matthew's sensors, the man took another swipe of the substance off his clothes. Wondering what cretinous depths Ivan had sank to, he touched the tip of his tongue to the glob of slime. He took the slightest swipe.

It was... delicious. The sensation of fresh fruit in goo incarnate. Vladislav squeaked from his massive play cage. “Don't judge me Vladka. It's delicious! I don't care what you think!” Ivan defended to his companion of many years, beginning to eat the substance in earnest. Rubbing it between his fingers in contemplation, Ivan bit his lip and dared to do something forbidden.

With a trembled breath, he unzipped his pants and ran the slick palm over his member. So so good. Too good to stop. Gathering more orange ooze, he started pumping in earnest. Soft moans and sounds escaped Ivan as he lay on the floor, serving long starved needs.

“Ah!” he panted desperately, a lazy heat gathering as his cock stood tall. Images came to easily to mind. Strong young men of Ivan's university days. Secret trysts in janitorial closets. Moaned prayers to the heavens uttered more reverently than any church choir. Oh, yes. Even images of his new boss flickered by. It was not surprising at all, for the creature sweat delicious strawberry lubricant and had tentacles. Ivan was hardly a virgin to the dark crevices of human nature. It was easy to imagine his employer as sex crazed beast, penetrating and being penetrated. Squeezing every inch of Ivan just right until he burst like a rocket.

Ivan came unexpectedly, mid-thrust into fisted grip. A ribbon of white spotted his already ruined work clothes. Gasping hotly for air, he turned into a puddle of relaxed muscle. After nearly passing out where he lay, Ivan's alarm clock blared to life. “Yes. Yes. I am getting up.” he murmured happily.

A thorough shower later, Ivan was dressed in an employee's uniform. Sliding into his usual chair in the kitchen, Ivan stared at his usual bland breakfast. It wasn't enough merely to subsist this morning. Ivan wanted sweet strawberry breakfast, food that delighted his senses. An intensely sexual thought stirred from the darkness of his affection starved imagination.

He wanted Alfred for breakfast. The revelation was a startling one, but easy to indulge.

The very same creature arrived a few minutes late, looking anywhere but Ivan. The tanned alien tried to eat his weird morning dumplings with unsteady grip on chop sticks, but failed. “Good morning.” Ivan offered after several long minutes of silence. The sound made his superior startle, dropping a chopstick suddenly.

Without real warning, the shorter presumed male burst into verbose confession. “Just get this over with! I know I was drunk last night, and you turned me down for that movie! And you looked so upset! You hated working with me! I know it! And then I... You showed up and I can't remember what happened, but you were practically shirtless! I'm probably a rapist again! I'm such a damn monster!”

At hearing all this, Matthew's on site translations suddenly paused. “You did _what_ now!?” the normally composed computer thundered. With glossy eyes and paled complexion, Alfred argued with his own ship. Amidst the hisses and clicks, Ivan began to genuinely laugh.

Artificial intelligence and alien both paused their bickering. “What's so funny?” Alfred demanded.

“Nothing happened! You couldn't even stand properly. I was dropping off laundry, and you passed out on me.” Ivan clarified, after managing to contain himself.

“So you weren't mad, and I didn't...” Alfred trailed off nervously, implying the obvious.

“No! I just had a horrible day at work yesterday.” the cosmonaut replied seriously, pushing aside his long ignored meal.

It took a long moment for Alfred to clue in. “Oh. Oh! The... the dead people. You were upset about the dead people?” He spoke so casually, as if seeing cannibalized frozen corpses was a regular thing to do.

“Yes. The dead people.” Ivan deadpanned, all mirth faded.

“Unfortunately, the area we work is far from standardized fuel stations. Over the cycles, a seventy percent chance of encountering dead pilots or crew has been established.” Matthew informed kindly, completely over his limited anger.

Alfred nodded in visible relief, adding “You're the second person alive I've found in my entire career.” After a moment, the alien shuffled his seat closer and peered at Ivan's complexion. “It's amazing. I'm not seeing signs of scarring or nerve damage.” he noted in awe.

Glancing at his breakfast suspiciously, Ivan replied “Why would I?”

“I don't usually work with others because I'm maybe, kinda... fatally poisonous. It's why I shower so often.” his boss explained just a bit too quickly

Everything made sense now. In this galaxy, specific carbohydrates and sugars seemed to be fatal to most life forms. Substances human beings had specifically evolved to consume. It was no wonder his species was considered so dangerous in these parts. Though the fact human beings were known two galaxies away was puzzling. Who had drifted this far from home before him?

Since sugars were exceedingly rare in every market they had gone to, Ivan despaired. He would never again eat fresh fruits or vanilla ice cream. These things didn't evolve or exist here. It made his depraved idea seem all the more appetizing.

Bravely placing a hand on the inner most of Alfred's thicker tentacles, Ivan offered a small sweet smile. “I do enjoy playing video games with you, and movies. Maybe we could go to your room and discuss other activities.” He offered in blatant flirtatious manner. Alfred failed to speak, almost blushing to a chocolate brown as his blue eyes turned darkly lustful.

So it seemed the captain was as desperate as his only crew. How many years had it been since the assumed male knew pleasure?


	8. Chapter 8

There the two people sat, close and blushing heatedly. They matched eyes, hungry in different ways. Ivan smiled and rubbed his thumb over warm flesh. Alfred swallowed thickly, but didn't stop the fine movements.

Matthew, no matter how advanced his programming was, was still a machine. “That sounds like an educational use of time. There is very little information on human hobbies or entertainment.” It agreed, blind to the context of the situation.

“Okay.” Alfred mumbled, as Ivan's hand slid farther up and squeezed. Alfred's skin was rubbery and warm, but pleasantly so. It would be more than good enough for what Ivan fervently wanted. Both people hastily retreated to Alfred's still messy room. In the dim lighting of the private quarters, A very flushed Alfred fumbled with a device in his four fingered hands.

“Can you hear me now?” he asked, his accents yet again changed from what Matthew typically assigned.

Ivan frowned a moment, then replied “Your accent sounds awful.”

“You sound like shit too buddy. Were you serious at the table? Because It's been a really long time since I had any... sex. If this is a joke or a prank I'm leaving you in airlock forever.” Alfred verbally threatened, stepping around the word 'sex' like it was a bomb.

It was a common and idle threat to the now experienced human. Holding that caramel blushing face, Ivan smiled. He was so painfully hungry for real flavourful food, he didn't care what the source was anymore. “I'll make you feel good, I promise.” he whispered, nudging Alfred towards the bed. Taking the hint, Alfred quickly shucked off his long dress of a shirt and flopped on the mattress.

“And you're okay with this? I mean, were completely different species and...” the prone figure wavered, his vulnerable body seeking cover in it's own tentacles.

“I'm from two galaxies away. It's _fine_. Think of this as a team building exercise.” Ivan soothed, internally itching and scratching to eat something.

The idiotic 'trust building' line Ivan had been fed a thousand times by Roscosmos seemed to work completely. Alfred grinned sharp teeth at him. “O-okay.” He stammered, eyes no longer narrowed to anxious dots.

“I'm turning this off, it's killing the mood.” Ivan mentioned irritably, reaching for the already forgotten device tossed on the floor.

“Agreed. It sounds like shit.” Alfred did the honours, killing the tiny machine's function when it was handed to him. Now with only body language to run off of, Ivan assessed the situation. Alfred had sweated all over him when relaxed, a far state from now. The alien before him was tense and curled upon himself. No good at all as a food source.

Laying next the taught lump of assumed male and tentacles, Ivan began with cuddling. It would help his generous host and employer unwind just a little. Feathery soft touches and kisses make the figure giggle in his own hissing way. Ivan's still dressed body pressed against Alfred's naked backside as hands wandered.

In the gentle but constant hunt for signs of moisture, Alfred seemed to thrive. He arched slowly into the touches, sighing happily. The distinct tang of of his strawberry secretions was starting to kill off the sterility of shower soaps. Daring a taste, Ivan licked the back of Alfred's neck. Tendril 'hairs' tickled his face affectionately in the process.

It was absolutely delicious. Like eating a fresh fruit salad from a fine restaurant, an irresistible confection of the mouth.

Control started slipping as Ivan became more motivated. These mere droplets were not enough. Petting and squeezing lower, he drifted down that tanned soft back. Sitting up a moment to read the atmosphere, Alfred was thoroughly relaxed now, some lower limbs even beginning to part and show the way.

Ivan chuckled before continuing languid licks downwards. They really were two lonely depraved freaks weren't they? When the mostly normal torso ended, Tentacles curled around the human and guided him. A small twitching button of a hole was before him, between the double ring of tentacle limbs. It was such pale soft thing to the touch, almost cute.

Alfred's upper body quivered when the rough pad of Ivan's thumb brushed against the spot. So, this was important. There was a snarled clicking command that universally translated in Ivan's mind as 'Stop messing around and have sex already!' but he deliberately ignored it.

Instead he lapped up any sweat around the area. Tasty, but never enough. There was obvious keens of need from his partner, but Ivan was ever more cruel. He was starving here, and he needed something substantially real to eat soon. But how to milk an Alfred to his truest potential?

Ah, yes. Tease the poor fella until he loses his mind. Grinning, Ivan plunged into the unknown. This was easily the best time Ivan had in his whole life eating someone out. For just a moment, Alfred's blatant enthusiasm swept away doubts and disgust. You didn't need language to understand moans and happy sighs.

Shoving his tongue inside as far as he could, it was so delicious and tight. A loud growl from Ivan's stomach reminded him of why he was stooping so low. He had officially subsisting on semi sweet ship scrapings for just over six months. The once palatable dish had become terrible and unworthy. There wasn't a single dish in existence you could eat twice a day for six months without hating it.

A sign of progress finally emerged, literally. It was a light pink member, emerging from a previously undetected fold. It seemed to be a direct response to a sensitive patch inside. This particular hole now slick with Ivan's attentions, he lazily serviced it with two thick fingers. Rubbing that spot experimentally, Alfred growled and arched in reaction.

Ivan was roughly yanked by his hair until he faced the intimidating organ. The flexible genitalia he had summoned was longer than Ivan's own manhood, but thankfully not as thick. The skin was silky and sweet to the senses. There was a opening on the heated tip that more resembled a hose than a small hole. It positively oozed that sacred orange goo Ivan desired above all else.

Having enough experience with fellatio, Ivan took a deep breath before beginning. He began timidly as Alfred howled and rolled onto his back. It had been _years_ after all. Suckling every section, pushing deep into it mouth, only to withdraw it quickly. The entire process was repeated as two fingers push deeper into Alfred's stretched hole and stroked long disused walls. The skilled human took any breaths available to him as possible.

All the while, his bosses's own limbs became more independent. They roiled and grasped at his sweaty uniform, tearing it clean off. Suckered tentacles naturally found his newly exposed rear, competing to slide their slick flesh into the sacred passage. Ivan willingly spread his legs just a little in invitation. The thicker of the two rubbery limbs won, quickly filling Ivan to the brim.

With a primitive yell, Alfred gasped and rolled his hips up hard. His wriggling tentacle of a cock, once extremely difficult to handle, seemed to slide straight into the only passage provided. Ivan coughed and choked a little as he accepted it, managing to relax his throat.

Ivan could feel it, heated cum pushing past his lip covered teeth. It was a pliable thick bulge, resting on his tongue before pushing slowly past. The organ itself felt damn near long enough to plant whatever this was into his stomach. And deposit it did. The invasive cock never seemed to let up it's flow of warm cum, the Russian's stomach beginning to feel pleasantly full.

Still, Ivan's body burned for fresh oxygen. The cosmonaut was desperate to finish this up before he suffocated and died. He blindly massaged a huge hot swell directly behind the monstrous cock slowly choking him. The trapped engineer could only guess it was the holding tank for all this seed. It had been a rather poor decision.

The heavenly rush of pleasure being put inside Ivan was too much now. His own visible arousal started to fade as Alfred's silky erection began to swell with it's overwhelming contents. Ivan's stomach was no longer comfortable as it took everything pumped into it, visibly pressing against soiled button up remains of a shirt.

There was now a second thick tentacle at his rear entrance, pushing it's rounded rubbery tip in at any cost. It wouldn't fit. There was no way that could all fit. Yet along with three slim ones, it was slowly pressing in. It was all too much perfect, until it began to turn over to pain.

Just as Ivan began to panic, Alfred's frenzied fucking of his trapped face stopped. With a final groan, the alien went completely slack on the bed. The huge limb of a cock slid out as gracelessly as it had embedded earlier. However it was very red and swollen, carrying mysterious seed so thick it resembled cottage cheese.

Ivan was so mortified by all of this as he took gasping breaths, achingly aroused. Just as in the beginning, that needy pink hole lay before him. Impulsively, Ivan pulled out his still stroking fingers. Cock head pressed against that opening, Ivan swallowed thickly. Should he enter Alfred's perfect dark places? Did he have the right?

That troublesome question was banished as Alfred pulled Ivan down to kiss him. Landing on the spongy mattress with both hands, the forward motion buried him to the base by accident. A basal grunt slipped out of him, everything making him more tense. Breathing harshly, the two consumed each other. They sucked and bit mercilessly as Ivan's slow humping sped to harsh thrusting.

Without warning, the many tentacles buried in his ass pulled out. His sore bottom was left alone for merely a second, that thick alien member easily sliding into the gaping orifice. It's mission of plunging into his guts and fucking them full of the honeyed thick goo resumed. Tight unbearable heat coiled in his lower guts so intensely he couldn't take it.

He shouldn't enjoy this. He was a good christian at a heart, a man that suppressed his deviant urges for decades while – “Ah fuck! OH GOD!” Ivan cried out as he buried himself with punishing strength into Alfred's extremely accommodating hole. Coming hard, stars danced across closed eyes in ecstasy.

Alfred meanwhile was a sweating panting mess. Ivan could only kneel on rubber legs as pulse after pulse of thick white pushed into him. Collapsing to his elbows, The Russian partially sagged against his partner in sleepy exhaustion. In an effort to relieve the pressure of his stuffed rectum, the sweaty ash blond spread his legs as far as they would go while his butt was up in the air.

It only encouraged the errant organ. A huge deposit, so large it couldn't fit before, began to wiggle in. It was almost a hard round shape from being so concentrated. The second most of the hard form entered his body, it diffused and coated his insides.

With that, Alfred's incredible beast of a genitalia slipped out and lay limp, job completed. It shrank and retreated from the same mystery hole it appeared. Feeling sleepy, Ivan motioned to move. He was stopped immediately by urgent grips in his sides. Alfred looked completely spent, eyes dilating anxiously to smaller dots.

Taking notice, Ivan realized he was very very stuck. Alfred had been so perfectly petite inside, and Ivan took some care to stretch the creature first. Even so, the thick uncircumcised head was definitely trapped. Holding Alfred's weight against his swollen lower body, Ivan shifted closer to the nightstand. 

It was just enough to reach the terrible translator. Passing the device to Alfred, cringe worthy words once again overlay their own intimate pants and whispers.

“That was... that was perfect.” Alfred admitted, blushing deeper than hot chocolate.

“Mmm, yes. Even if you used my ass until it broke.” Ivan teased, resuming their standard ways of speaking. Up until now, they had been mostly professional with a cheesy playfulness in small doses.

“I got a little excited is all. You went and got _stuck_ like an idiot.” the other replied harmlessly.

“I don't think we should tell Matvey about this.” Ivan suggested, barely awake.

“Agreed.” Alfred yawned, as they shuffled in tandem carefully. After they were both laying comfortably as one could on their sides, the thoroughly winded pair pulled the still clean blanket over their forms. Pressing ironically closer, they cuddled close and fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

With so little information on humanity in this section on the universe, Ivan was finally having fun. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing earth was over a million years away. It was a little easier to digest, having physical comforts to distract him now.

There was mornings Ivan was incurably horny, with Alfred more than pleased to assist. It almost made the Russian laugh as his accommodating lover sat on his lap. Buried to the base right at the kitchen table. It was an absolute godsend that computers were so socially dense.

With only the two living beings for sentient company, the added intimacy changed nothing about work. Alfred still talked for eternity, and Ivan would chuckle or joke once in a while. It all felt wonderfully healthy and normal, if that was such a thing.

It was another day of work as Ivan whistled a song only he knew. He wore a breath mask, gloves, and hair net as requested. None of this was unusual since Ivan was in the most vulnerable part of the ship. It was the generator room, where a bulk of the mysterious 'organic circuitry' was stored. If the ship was Matthew's 'body', the 'brain' was stored here.

Today was actually day three of maintenance and cleaning. Salvage as a profession was bursts of activity, followed by long stretches of boredom. Ivan killed this time with muscle training, playing with Vladislav, and cleaning everything constantly. Tentatively, hanging out with Alfred outside of rough sex was becoming common.

The plain white door of Matthew's special room slid open as he approached, followed by a distinctly happy “Good morning Mr. Braginsky, manager of electrical operations.” Ivan smirked and entered, setting his tool box down. Along with an arm load of specialized cleaning liquids, there was a box of new parts to be installed.

“Be careful Matvey, you might love me.” Ivan teased. Wondering if the artificial even understood affection, he set to work. Years of rusty bolts, dust, and tiny specialized repairs were begging for attention. Most notably, Ivan must have removed two entire bags of garbage. Once, Alfred was supposedly allowed in here if he got lonely or bored. Before being banned for life, the forgetful alien had completely trashed the room and sweated on everything. For the germaphobic Matthew, it had been traumatizing.

“I am not capable of love, but I do admire your cleanliness.” the computer answered frankly.

Smiling, Ivan opened a sleek white panel and looked inside. Organic circuitry was pure beauty to the trained electrician's eyes. It was still like the trade he knew, but it was built in tough regenerative tissues that expanded or shrank in function as they were used. The wire infused flesh formed black thick cables that riddled every part of the ship like a massive spider web. Even the installation of organic computer systems was amazing. They were planted in the metal hulls of ships and grew into their roles with time. Instead of dirt and water, operating systems were irrigated with special ammonia mixtures on beds of computer chip boards.

Wiping a solid layer of dust off a loose cord of circuits, Ivan was mesmerized. “Your systems are beautiful. Your processing power must be thousands of times what my ship ever did.” he muttered mostly to himself. There was a quiet series of error noises. It was generated tones the computer filled in when it couldn't find appropriate audio responses.

It was the technical equivalent of the shy computer's personality being flustered. Which was always interesting to initiate. “T-thank you.”

“How are you considered inanimate property? You eat, You speak, You run business and a ship.” Ivan talked as he cleaned, removed layers of grey to reveal shining black once more.

“Although I consume, and communicate, I do not produce waste or offspring. I am a unique model that only exists in this shell.” Matthew replied evenly.

Discovering a tank in the wall, Ivan opened the cap after getting administrative permission. The overpowering scent of human piss hit Ivan's nose. Gagging, he hurriedly put the cap back on and stumbled away. “Holy shit. That was awful.” he gasped in Russian, desperately sucking in fresh filtered air.

Understanding everything since Ivan taught Matthew the language, the reply was quick. “It is a previously classified mixture of Ammonia, organic biles –” “I don't want to know, because it smells like piss.” Ivan interrupted sharply.

“That would be a correct observation.” Matthew replied. “Human waste has three vital compounds needed for circuitry maintenance. Your presence has saved the monthly budget 451 credits, which directly goes your personal care.”

“You keep my urine in a tank and eat it?” Ivan blurted out, disgusted.

“Alfred has it filtered and sold to the markets as well. I only require 278 millilitres for monthly operations. I am very invested in keeping you alive, for this and other reasons.”

“So I'm a fuel producing pet. It's about the credit, and not that I'm okay?” Ivan accused, feeling rather wounded right now. Matthew was supposed to be his _friend_ , like Vladislav, or possibly Alfred.

“Negative. You are positively affecting the captain's mental health. Prior to your arrival, it spent 5 cycles with only myself for long term company. My simulated emotional capacities are incapable of providing it's needs.”

“Why do you talk differently around me than Alfred? And why are you calling him an it?” The Russian demanded in his native tongue. Alfred was certainly unconventional as a lover and friend, but he deserved more respect than this.

“You do not require my emotional support like the captain. It was born from an illogical race with high social dependency. Unfortunately, your language lacks the appropriate pronouns for the captain's sex. It only covers two of the legally accepted sexes.” the computer informed cheerfully, oblivious to Ivan's internal conflicts.

“There's males and females. That's it.” the paling man sputtered, slowly grasping what the artificial intelligence was explaining. Over the past two months, Ivan and Alfred had passionate sex in every way one could. No vice or viable hole untouched. Ivan was from two galaxies away, he had thought. Alfred was male, he had assumed. Nothing could possibly happen, right?

“There is seed carriers, or males as you seem to say. You are a seed carrier. There is egg carriers, or females, if your language is correctly translated. There is also receivers, creatures that do not produce eggs or seeds. They host life for those that do not possess wombs or egg chambers. The fourth type of sex is having both egg and seed production. They are capable of bearing life and impregnating others. The closest acceptable term this language has is hermaphrodite.”

This news winded the unprepared cosmonaut. A dreaded feeling was swallowed as Ivan dared ask “What is Alfred?”

“The Captain is a hermaphrodite.”

Ivan gasped fearfully and knelt on shaking legs. What if Alfred could get pregnant? Was that even possible? Suddenly, he needed to know this more anything before. An idea came to mind, one that meant Ivan wouldn't get in trouble.

“Matvey. Maybe we should get Alfred to see a doctor. He might be... sick! There is a law that a ship needs a healthy captain, right?” Ivan suggested in mock concern, pausing for dramatic effect.

The computer's basic emotional perception was fooled, which was an easy task. “Yes. Your concern for the captain is wonderful, given I am not always available to monitor him. I will arrange for a doctor's trip. You will also be examined, as an asset of this ship.”

“No, it's... I'm _fine_ ” Ivan dismissed easily, but the polite computer would have none of it. “I have already altered the flight trajectory. It is estimated we will arrive in two days.” Matthew informed.

Ivan slumped in defeat for the time being.

Later that day, Ivan picked at his food in quiet contemplation. Alfred sat across from him at the kitchen table, chattering away. Ivan stared hard into his murky soup, wishing it had answers. Was Alfred with child? The traditional pro-life human was in moral quagmire. Killing unborn was wrong but Alfred was an alien. Did he count in god's seemingly limited equations? Maybe reading his copy of the bible would clear shadows of his doubt.

A blonde flecked tentacle squeezed his arm softly, Alfred having moved beside him. In only the way a tentacle person could, his employer gave him an all compassing hug. “You look way too serious. Maybe you can tell me what's wrong. Or maybe we could... relax together, in my quarters.” the alien offered sweetly, quickly turning devious.

“Alfie! He was so worried about you being sick, so I arranged a visit to the doctor!” After such cold calculated conversations with Matthew in his room the past few days, Ivan was a little stunned. There was a massive difference in voice tones, mannerisms. The complex computer probably had hundreds of social interactions, all engineered to keep his captain sane.

Alfred was soaking in all of this, unconcerned. He did need this babied treatment to stay whole, it seemed. “That's so sweet of you. Both of you! I love you Mattie! And you...” Alfred crooned, dropping his voice to a bare whisper. “... are going to get so much attention tonight.”

Ivan felt more than his mood perk up at this, despite all his best intentions. Sex with Alfred was just too good to pass up. Blushing hotly, Ivan gave him an affectionate lick. Almost surrendering to that strawberry bliss again, but remembering Matthew was watching. The platonic charade had been held up two months already. It wasn't like Matthew had real feelings. Maybe.

“I'll come by later, Fedya. We can relax, be very relaxed... But I need to finish some tasks first.” Ivan promised, daring another long lick. He fervently wish for more, but controlled himself.

“Yeah, I have to finish up stuff too. I keep getting distracted for some reason.” Alfred teased, A nosy tentacle already pressing past the undone zipper of his work uniform. It slithered around his balls, covering his freed cock in Alfred's own pleasure induced slick.

Any logical thought scattered as Ivan was stroked subtly under the table. “Fuck.” he breathed, regretting not wearing boxers today due to lack of laundry. “Are you in distress Ivan?” the computer asked, catching the stray curse.

“N-no.” he stammered, squeezing the table edge tightly.

“Very well. I have to do internal maintenance and speak with the doctor, but I can talk with you later Alfie. I downloaded a new game we can play.” the computer offered in it's almost pandering tone. After knowing what Matthew actually sounded like, this facade seemed simple minded.

“No it's okay. I was going to take a nap sometime. Going to the city is kind of crazy.” Alfred replied innocently, as Ivan struggled valiantly to look casual. Once the lights in the kitchen camera died, Ivan let out a long groan.

“You are so bad to me Fedya.” the Russian growled, taking Alfred right there on the kitchen table.


	10. Chapter 10

Vladislav was a modest mouse, In Ivan's opinion. His thin grey fur was soft, gently pet with a finger as the creature sat on Ivan's broad chest. Vladislav was currently preening, stopping sometimes to blink at Ivan. Such a delicate little companion.

Alone in a relative sense, the Russian spoke. It wasn't like a napping Alfred could hear them in this tiny taxi shuttle. “Vladka. Do you think it was wrong of me to lie to Matvey? It's not like computers have feelings. Maybe. Unless he does.”

The mouse squeaked, trying to run about in his transparent ball cage. Ivan secured the lid back on and released the mouse to roll around.

“You can't judge me like that. Alfred can't be pregnant. He can't. This will be a clean safe check up for everyone. And we will return to secret lovers, and no one will be hurt.” Ivan continued, running a hand through his long hair nervously. Alfred was dangerously incompetent with scissors, and Ivan only knew bowl cuts. Long hair it was.

The automated hospital shuttle made a pleasant tone, followed by a female sounding “Welcome to Shulzeng Hospital. Please enjoy your wait.”. A door slid open, allowing escape. The waiting room was enchanting green patterned wallpaper, aside from the three eyed fish woven into the design. A stack of tablets showing flashy articles was on a central table. Another tentacled creature with a bad cough hacked as it read one of the tablets.

The entire medical system on this planet was incredible, a series of shuttles that directly brought patients to the right doctor. From faint screaming not fair away, Ivan guessed not everyone was a willing visitor.

Slinging a sleeping captain over one shoulder, Ivan grabbed his mouse and left the stark white shuttle. The door he walked through vanished as it closed. Dumping his snoozing employer in a chair resembling a bowl, it suited the largely squishy alien well. Shrugging off his coat, Ivan hung it up and approached a traditional wooden desk with a charming glass lamp. A catlike person with pert feline ears was in a grey robe like a nun. It seemed to be the standard code of dress for medical and hazardous waste staff, at least in this solar system.

Clearing his throat nervously, Ivan turned on his translator ear piece. “Oh hello? Are you just arriving for Doctor Beilschmidt?” the feline humanoid greeted, their purring accent almost Italian sounding in its bouncing syllables.

“Um. Yes. Three for... Kirkland-Jones.” Ivan answered uncertainly, reading the butchered last name of the captain off a scrap of paper.

“Lovely, You are perfectly on time. Zhe will be moment, then you can enter the office.” the cat person cheered, sharp amber eyes bright with merriment. A second later, they picked up a phone. “Lud Beilschmidt offices, toxicity specialists, how can I help you?”

Leaving the secretary of sorts to their job, Ivan browsed the chairs. They came in a wide variety of shapes, but most were stools and bowls. Sitting on a plush stool, Ivan shook Alfred's shoulder. The golden brown alien yawned and curled in his chair some more.

Cracking open an bright blue eye, he asked “Are we at the hospital yet?”

Ivan nodded. “I checked us in. What does Zhe mean?”

“Its the pronoun for receivers. The folks that run this solar system are trinary gendered. Here, seed carriers and egg carriers sign a legal agreement with a receiver to breed. The entire thing is actually pretty interesting.” Alfred went on sleepily, beginning to splay and stretch as he sat up in his seat. So many tentacles curled and unrolled for a moment.

Ivan said nothing, red faced about the topic. He still felt immensely dense for not asking what true gender Alfred was. The embarrassed man had never considered there was so many sexual possibilities in the universe. He truly was a child in so many matters.

“What's... the pronoun for hermaphrodites?” Ivan asked quietly.

“Heshe, or shehe, or if someone is an asshole, it. But I would be surprised if the doctor that runs this place is a zhe. It looks super zhe in here.” his captain went on, now standing and alert.

“I don't understand.” Ivan muttered, once again drowning in alien culture.

“Zhales are all about the tranquility and stuff. This wall pattern needs a big explosion of colour. Maybe cool art. The table could be a fun shape...” Alfred's pointless ramble cut off as his name was displayed above the desk. “That's us bud, lets go.” the caramel coloured alien informed, pulling himself along in plodding fashion.

Grabbing Vladislav's rolling cage ball, Ivan obeyed. They passed the still busy secretary seated behind the desk, through a soothing portal of blues and silvers. They ended up in a pleasant doctor's office with a distinctive cottage feel, surrounded by fine wood finishes.

An older cat person in forest green coat resembling earth military waited before them. His fur pale and trimmed, neat like his clean demeanour. As usual, Alfred's bubbly personality broke the awkwardness. “Luddie! Pleasure to see you again. It's been what, two cycles?” He greeted, zealously shaking the cat person's gloved paw.

“Yes. You are early by a few months for your check up. Matthew was very concerned for your health.” The fluffy looking being greeted in stiff manner. Cold blue eyes studied Ivan, having to look up only slightly. “Greetings. I am doctor Lud Beilschmidt. I am a toxic and parasitic species specialist. I have been informed this is your first time seeing a doctor in many cycles. Could you tell how long it's been, so I can record it in my files?” The cold tone softened, as a doctor would for a scared child.

Ivan was genuinely scared right now. He loved kitties but these ones were much too large. What if they ate Vladislav? “I'm not parasitic, and I don't know what a cycle is.” Ivan huffed, fairly confident he could get away with some pride.

The doctor's whiskers twitched, but he otherwise remained stable and calm. “A cycle is 211.5 days which are twenty one hours in length. A cycle consists of ten months, which are roughly 42 days long. An hour is 60 minutes. A minute is 70 seconds. A second is...”

“I understand, doctor.” Ivan cut him off, overwhelmed again. Doing very rough math for a minute, Ivan scrunched his face in intense thought. The numbers were just too big to do on the spot. “I think... um. I was... I last saw a doctor 7 years ago, and a year has 365 days in it, and those hours are twenty four minutes long. And my version of minutes is 60 seconds... Oy bozhe, so much math...”

“Do not fret. The computer had already calculated. You have not seen a doctor in...” The serious cat person glanced at his thin tablet, sentence dropping off. After a moment, the seemingly shocked practitioner regained his composure. “... You have not seen a doctor for a very long time I see. We will do a complete scan and assess your health.”

Alfred peaked at the calculations himself and giggled like a child. “Dude you are so _old_. That's almost nine cycles. I'm like 18 cycles old.” he teased.

Ivan had gratuitous insane sex with an alien that was practically a child. He was an intergalactic rapist. The doomed Russian was definitely going to hell when he died now. What if Alfred was pregnant? Did Ivan even have the right to take responsibility of his probable young anymore? Seeing Ivan's blatant panic, the doctor patted him on the shoulder with a gloved paw. “Just breathe, Mr. Braginsky. I am saying that right?”

Ivan nodded, swallowing thickly. He remembered to add a hurried “Yes.” at the last minute.

Guided to the equivalent of a cramped transparent photo booth, Ivan was instructed to sit inside it. The ceiling of this humming apparatus was low and uncomfortable. “So what do I do in this machine?” He asked nervously.

“It takes pictures of your organs with Thyzansenic radiation waves. Do not worry, it is harmless. From there we will determine if you are a healthy Hoomin.” The doctor explained as he loaded Alfred into another weird photo booth thing.

“Human. Its human.” Ivan correctly as the doctor wrangled the last few tentacles into the machine and closed the door. He was incredibly good at it. This was not a surprise, if that foul smelling tentacle beast in the waiting room was his usual clientele. How did it even know where to put on a tie in the morning? Where did tentacle monsters even find ties that fit them?

Once again in comfy chairs, The stressed out human and his captain were left alone for a few minutes. A stray alien limb twined through his fingers and squeezed in comforting fashion. “I don't know what you're upset about, but it's going to be okay.” the shorter companion soothed, cheeks ruddy brown with emotion.

The doctor returned pulling up a stool to sit in front of the pair. Ivan wasn't sure if the very feline doctor was more serious than usual, or this was their resting face. “My diagnosis for both of you is complicated. First I will discuss Alfred. He is in good health, and his brain activity is perfect. He is easily meeting his social interaction quota unlike last time. This is good.”

At the mention of being called perfect, Alfred beamed a fanged grin and cuddled Ivan's shoulder. A very scared mouse in a transparent ball was placed in Ivan's lap. “Your pet is fine aside from an usual condition, which brings me to you.” the fuzzy humanoid spoke in sharp accent looking at Ivan with tented paws.

“I detected genetic... pollution. If it can be called that, in both you and this pet. Your genes have been scrambled and forcefully rearranged by a large cosmic event. This is a very specific disorder called Lancifer's Disease. It's caused by any interactions with black holes. Living in the vicinity of a space-time tear can also cause this. Have you had any of these symptoms? Vomiting, internal bleeding, loose skin, or unusual discharge?”

Feeling scared, Ivan replied “Not since six years ago, I mean.. um. A lot of cycles ago?” Math once again bogged his brain temporarily.

“Did you see anyone with this condition prior to contracting it?”

“No. I was stranded in space for six years by myself. Well, that's not true. I had my little Vladka there to love me. Isn't that true little friend?” Ivan cooed to his tiny comrade. The mouse squeaked in return and blinked at him. “He loves me very much. We are like brothers.” The cosmonaut insisted, with a flash of a frantic smile.

“What does Lancifer's disease do?” Alfred asked curiously.

“Instant death, or organ rejection. If somebody survives this, they have weaken immune systems for several cycles, and any genetic flaws will be mutated or potentially missing. Mr. Braginsky only seems to be missing a few components in his DNA. If there is any mutations, they are nothing malicious so far.” The doctor informed casually. “He is very lucky to be alive.”

The doctor looked at the human skeptically, then at the number of calculated cycles Ivan had been lost in space. “Our records don't hold a lot of information about humans. Admittedly you are my first one. It is well known that humans need a very special diet, and require large amounts of attention to thrive. There is much damage in your frontal lobe from lack of adequate socialization. It is getting better, but you will need at least two hours of playtime a day.”

Ivan didn't know what to say. He was a 39 year old man ordered to have recess like he was a school child. It was so bizarre.

“Your dietary needs are more pressing. They are not being met, and your brain is starving because of it. I'm suggesting a meal plan you can stick to until you figure out a sustainable lifestyle. I'm also prescribing these. They are vitamins intended for Poisonous Velipher squids, but it will easily meet your bodily needs.”

“Those vitamins are vital to your health, because of the good news! You are both two months pregnant! Congratulations!” The fuzzy practitioner went on, actually smiling. It was a terrifying sight of bared sharp canines.

The room spun as Ivan failed to breathe from panic. In seconds, he fainted.


	11. Chapter 11

It had been two days since the the doctor's visit and Ivan silently sulked. At first he buried himself in work to avoid the truth of everything. But even this faltered in the light of how lonely he really was. Thus bringing him into his current situation. Ivan was cuddled so closely to Alfred they felt each other's heart beats, but still the cosmonaut remained quiet. Vladislav was curled up and sleeping on top of the warm holographic projector.

The movie they were watching was pretty good. Feeling groggy, Ivan felt himself nodding off. A short sniffle caught his attention. It sounded too close to be from wall speakers. Curious, Ivan took a long blink and looked down. Bundled in his arms, Alfred was silently crying thick ugly tears. It was an unbecoming sight that played Ivan's heart strings like a harp.

“Why. Why are you crying.” Ivan asked in confusion, his throat dry after two mute days.

“You're going to leave me, just like Carlos did. We used to be friends but I got him accidentally... pregnant and now he... tried to kill me. I didn't mean to! I'm so unlovable.” Alfred confessed in a tiny broken hiss, the translator close enough catch his words.

A crushing despair sat in Ivan's soul. It was a miasma of depression completely unrelated to the grieving creature squeezing him. “It's not you.” the ash blonde grumbled. Alfred's sniffling paused as he looked up. “It's me. I'm going... I'm going to hell.” Ivan explained with a grieving stutter. He was too. Hell for all eternity, until the devil's fire licked his bones clean. Even his bones would be violated.

“What is a hell?” Alfred asked quizzically, his own turmoil temporarily forgotten.

Ivan took a shuddered breath, hiding his face in shame.

“Mattie! Get in here! What is hell?” Alfred yelled over the movie, turning off the translator after. Apparently have another translator active in the same room hurt the computer's pride. Another reason Ivan still suspected the operating system was a guy in a box.

“I told you not to bring me here, last time there was clothes stuck to the wall and... and... It's really clean in here. Is that a vase of fresh flowers?” Matthew's electronic disgust turned to awe quickly as the camera in the ceiling activated.

“Ivan wouldn't let me have tub sex until I cleaned up my work shirts. That doesn't matter. What's a hell?” Alfred dismissed authoritatively, making Ivan blush a little.

“Hell as translated from his ship's archives, is a fictional concept. It is a place the human soul reportedly goes for punishment when the body expires, as payment for violating codes of conduct put forth by several religious texts.” Matthew informed coolly.

“Hell is not fictional! It is real! And there is a god, and angels, and you can't tell me otherwise!” Ivan roared, nearly making Alfred fall in the rush to stand up. His entire life was dedicated silently to Christianity, almost as much as it was to science. Hell was real, or his whole life was a lie. That was _one_ thing that was impossible.

“Okay. Okay. So uh, why are you going to hell?” Alfred asked, picking up the tentacles that had flopped on the floor. The skepticism in his tone was obvious, but at least he wasn't accusing Ivan of being insane.

“I... had sex with you, and I did the math. I'm 55 cycles old I think, and your 18. That makes you underage. So now I'm a rapist. Then I... I killed the life we made by accident. I'm pro-life Alfred. I just committed murder. I'm a murdering rapist, my mother would be ashamed of me!” Ivan wheezed anxiously as he started to pace the length of the violently blue room.

“What? You thought... That is too much!” Alfred burst into laughter.

“This isn't funny! God's going to strike me down and drag me to hell!” Ivan snarled, clenching his fists in anger. Didn't Alfred understand the dangers of the divine?

Unable to keep a serious expression, the alien lounged on the warm spot left by Ivan in red couch cushions. “Ok. Fine. Hell is a thing. But you haven't considered something pretty big.”

“What?” Ivan responded sharply, pausing his frantic movements.

Alfred glanced at him with those flirty blue eyes, smiling coyly. “I'm a consenting adult of my race, and did you really expect to keep all 8,000 fertilized eggs and actually raise them? That would kill both of us, and you know it. Feeding 8,000 eggs. Think about it. I produce thousands of them all the time.”

Ivan's conviction faltered at the though of 8,000 Alfreds all bugging him for attention. It was a terrifying prospect, but so was defying the beliefs that guided his entire life. Such a moral quagmire was this entire week. Maybe he should read the bible again. Sitting once again, Ivan raked fingers through his loose hair.

“You know. If you go get dragged off to hell... I have... alien technology to come get you, at a moment's notice. So no worries? Right Mattie?” the childish creature revealed, hugging Ivan's arm while hiding his face. Without an expression to judge off of, the Russian couldn't tell if he was lying.

“I don't understand how this is helping –” Matthew was sharply interrupted and muted against his will.

“See? Even Mattie agrees.”

Although the bible only had a few mentions of such acts, other false religions had public stunts like that all the time. Ivan's frightened soul softened at the possibility of rescue from eternal hellfire. “So you can... bust me out if I do die and go to hell?” Ivan murmured, looking to his lover and employer shyly.

“There's cloning technology and thought transfer radio. Find the right species and you can do anything you want.” Alfred soothed, cuddling closer. “So. I can be saved.” Ivan breathed in relief, releasing all the tension of the past few days.

“You were upset some being would strike you down with magic powers, but not that you were full of thousands of alien eggs. Eggs that could kill you because there was so many.” Alfred deadpanned, surprised. No longer hiding his face, the alien perked a non-brow as he crossed his arms.

“Well... I could have found a way... I mean. All life is precious. It would be hard but... It could be done. Maybe.” Even Ivan couldn't believe the line this time. _It would have been impossible_ , a smaller part of him whispered. _They would have left you a dried husk_ , his scrambled reasoning quietly insisted.

Ivan was grateful when Alfred became distracted by a loud explosion in the movie still playing. “Computer unmute.” Ivan commanded, knowing his lover had already forgotten. No doubt the idiot would freak out later, proclaiming his computer friend had 'died and abandoned him'. Despite being a brilliant business manager, Alfred had the attention span of a fly. Some thing that was increasingly becoming endearing as it was annoying.

Ivan must be losing his mind after all.

Time past on as it always did. It was now two weeks since the doctor's visit. This was the last awful day of the prescribed birth control both Ivan and Alfred had to take with breakfast. It was now a miniature ritual of sorts, the two clinking glasses before downing the foul black liquid. It tasted of cleaning supplies and death.

“Not bad today.” Ivan remarked, as his stomach churned.

“Not at all.” Alfred agreed, even as his golden complexion started turning a little blue.

Their bluffs failed quickly, as they both scrambled to the bathroom. In minutes, they were both puking and soiling themselves like broken chemical toilets. “Oh stars, that was awful. Did you see any eggs?” Alfred groaned, curled up on the blue self-cleaning floor.

It had been five days since the last fertilized egg was expelled between them. According to the doctor's orders, five days or more of no eggs and they were officially not pregnant. Between rounds of profuse inky sickness, Ivan had not seen another floating white dot.

“I think... we're clear.” Ivan coughed roughly, rasping for breath as his guts twisted upon themselves. Flopping to his side, the human lapsed into latent exhaustion.

“I'm going to shower, then let Mattie know. Ugh. I'm so happy we don't have to do this again.” The smaller companion informed him, pushing himself to sitting position. A lustful gleam came to his ever blue eyes. “Maybe you could come shower with me.”

Ivan laughed in equal parts humour and disgust. “You want shower sex after _that_?” The results of their foul medicine was still pulling into the drain, shiny clean floor left behind.

“I want you.” Alfred purred and clicked, the poor dub of the room translator not hiding any intent.

Looking into those lust darkened orbs, Ivan could feel his still sick body perking up in attention. “Okay.” he replied without thought, absently patting his pocket for a condom. Yes, there was one. Perfect. Matthew's weekly room cleaning could wait 20 minutes.. or forty... or an hour or two.


	12. Chapter 12

Ivan's life seems to get better in unexpected ways. Before when Ivan used to get ready in the mornings, he would fire off a quick prayer like religious maintenance. Before, skipping this procedure wasn't an option. God was going to kill him eventually if he didn't, somehow, somewhere. This mantra had kept him in line since he could first speak sentences.

But now, knowing full well he was going to hell, Ivan knew his fate now. It was a cruel comfort in it's own way. For he truly was irredeemable, having murdered so many unborn little Alfreds. It was almost a month since the last birth control dose. Despite Alfred being very underage by Ivan's standards, their sexual relations continued. If Ivan was going to be tortured for all eternity after he died, he should enjoy every moment until then.

Yawning, Ivan woke to another morning. He mindlessly rolled through his morning routine, finishing it off with some cuddles for Vladislav. After a quick breakfast of boring oatmeal like substance, Ivan was off to do basic ship maintenance. Ivan actually liked his food now, a doctor engineered selection of grains and simple proteins. Alfred's cum still tasted better.

Two hours into changing dead bulbs for the floor tiles, Ivan froze in terror. He forgot his daily prayer. He _never_ was supposed to skip it. Hurriedly, Ivan put his hands together. Then he paused, and looked around uncertainly. Nothing seemed ready to strike him down or murder him.

A most blasphemous thought trickled into his mind. He could just... not pray and see what happens. The doomed Russian was going to hell anyway. Might as well experiment with things. It would the first time in thirty three years he tried otherwise intentionally.

One day passed without repercussion. After five days Ivan stopped flinching and expecting lightning bolts to cook him where he stood. This felt so forbidden, like when school children skipped class to go to the mall. Ivan sometimes couldn't help giggling at the thought he wasn't caught yet, so mischievous and playful as he hid from the eyes of his angry god.

Even Alfred noticed after a week of this. Ivan had just cum hard into the condom after fucking his boss so thoroughly it left grip bruises. The bulky cosmonaut's own body was penetrated and stroked to absolute completion. A rumpled mess, they cuddled together until soft covers after.

“You seem happy today.” Alfred noted, pressed so close their pulses and sweat mingled. “I could be. I have a secret for you. It has to stay secret.” Ivan began, bursting with the need to tell somebody something. He could feel his lover still buried in him, slick tentacles playfully wriggling inside. Ivan grunted a little at the pleasurable intrusions. He had forgotten how excitable the alien could be.

“I.. I haven't been praying for a week. God hasn't come to get me yet. I don't know if he's planning to get me or wha – Ah shit!” Ivan blurted out, briefly blind with joy as he felt another slim tentacle stretched his ass.

“Don't worry about it. Just... Ung ha...” Alfred shuddered as he began mounting Ivan, pressing the larger companion face first into the bed. “Try not to worry too much, and whatever ha-a-a... _Ah_... pens happens.”

Ivan moaned in response, eagerly presenting his ass and spreading as wide as he could. On quaking knees, the human barely contained his ecstasy. This past month the sex had been better than ever. It was willpower melting levels of orgasm that never seem to end. Feeling that thick tube of a cock prod where three exploratory tentacles had been before, Ivan craved to be filled. He wanted everything Alfred had to offer, and that was quite a lot. “You're so perfect.” Alfred moaned, as his slick cock of sorts wormed and pressed inside.


	13. Chapter 13

It was three hours later when the still entangled lovers were wrenched from exhaustion born sleep. It was common to find them in such state, having sexed themselves into unconsciousness. Feeling sticky but satisfied, Ivan was the first to wake.

“What. What is it.” the ash blond groaned, refusing to move.

“It's time to work.” Matthew informed, as if they were cockroaches in it's midst.

“Everything is cleaned and repaired.” Ivan whispered, as Alfred came to slowly.

“I found a wreck in grid section G 47 by V 61. It's time to work.” the artificial intelligence repeated, persistent as always.

“We're getting up, geez.” Alfred murmured, opening a blue eye slowly. Ivan took in that caramel jaw line, the beautiful and so unique hair. That subtle bump of a nose centring a sweet expression. Ivan's insides fluttered strangely with this observation, a slow blush coloured down his cheeks. “You're so handsome today.” Alfred purred as he shifted his weight to move. “Be careful, you're still deep inside.” Ivan replied shyly, heart hammering as he spread his legs for easy access.

Alfred breathed heavily as he withdrew his massive cock. Every millimetre that blessed organ dragged out gently, Ivan wanted to quiver and squeeze. His body rarely behaved, doing exactly that. They were both panting and making small noises when that impressive tip slipped out with a wet pop.

“This is so ridiculous. I don't have anything left, but I still want to have sex. _Again_.” Alfred huffed, blushing chocolate brown as his light body collapsed on Ivan. The lover beneath him groaned. Ivan was spent for the day, and barely moved in reaction. It would be another week before Ivan's body and mind seemed to regain reason. Until that point they truly were animals, taking any opportunity.

It was a rough morning for everyone. Ivan shuffled in and plopped into his seat. Followed by a very tired Alfred, the pair ate in silence.

“Does anyone have anything they need to say?” Matthew began, sounding very peeved.

There was a long stretch of silence, then Ivan cleared his throat. “I'm sorry we had sex in the engine room.” Alfred muttered, looking owlishly at the ceiling camera. “We won't do it again.” Ivan added weakly. Not a promise he could realistically keep, but Ivan was sure going to try.

Things become normal for a time in this way. Well, as normal as life could be for a lost cosmonaut a million years from home. Ivan's love life calmed to a steady tempo of movie time cuddles and sharing the bed. The ever faithful Vladislav tagged along on all but the most sensitive jobs, tucked in that front pocket with a few treats. Forever more, Ivan always looked over his shoulder to make certain God was not there. Waiting to destroy him in due time.

The only thing that seemed to worsen was Ivan himself. He felt gradually more worn down with the passing days. It was harder to concentrate, to move, to function. Back pain was becoming an everyday phenomena, and Ivan was perpetually hungry. Worse yet, he had gained a pile of weight despite his rigorous workout routine.

All of this seemed so minor in the larger picture. It was just gut pain, and a headache. It wasn't going to kill him. So Ivan pressed on. Until dense Alfred began cluing in slowly. The pair was chopping up a busted and abandoned rock hauler the size of a department store. The drones were doing the basic work elsewhere, while Ivan and Alfred tore apart the control room with trained eyes.

Ivan winced silently in pain as he disconnected a motherboard. His back being annoying.. again. This time he didn't even have gravity to blame. Alfred turned off his thermal saw, pushing towards Ivan in the zero gravity. Through chrome and tinted glass, a touch of concern moved Ivan's shoulder. “Hey bud. You okay?” the familiar voice crackled through their weak helmet speakers.

“I am fine.” Ivan lied as he balked at his own body. Whatever painful shenanigans it was up to, the stubborn Russian would complete his tasks first.

“Maybe we should take a lunch break.” Alfred proposed, pulling his bigger companion from the exposed panel section.

“I am _fine_. We are almost done!” Ivan hissed, as another gut cramp began.

“Mattie we're coming in. Ivan's acting weird again.” Alfred signalled through his suit, grabbing Ivan with his tentacles as he pulled along his tether with both arms.

“I am not acting weird! I just want a job done and you keep getting in my way!” Ivan complained, becoming exponentially grouchier.

“Your pulse is raising rapidly and you are not in a mode of attraction. Is there something wrong?” Matthew's voice piped in the second they left the sprawling wreck

“I'M FINE! LEAVE ME ALONE TO WORK!” Ivan roared, his patience even shorter than normal. Taking a gasp, the Russian doubled over in agony. Prior to popular belief, fist fights and escaping things was difficult in zero gravity.

After much struggling, an exhausted Ivan gave into his comrade's wishes and shuffled along. Honestly, he was too tired to argue anymore about it. The medical bay was cozy and quiet. The bed put Ivan's to shame in comfort alone. Tucked in and slightly happier, Ivan gave in to everything. With a long yawn, he burrowed under red blankets.

“You look tired, and you walked weird all the way here. I'm starting to think you're not doing great!” Alfred commented with concern, crouched in his tentacle sort of way.

“No shit Sherlock.” Ivan muttered, hiding under his new covers. Oh wow, he was an unbearable little monster today. Expression less cold, he poked his face out from under the blanket. “I didn't mean that... I just need pain killers, or something.” Ivan spoke softly, letting his hair be ruffled. He was so very tired, and it was so nice to be cared about.

“You want anything else?” Alfred offered with an endearing, if sharp, grin.

“I want... Vladka with me, and my favourite pillow... and some food.” Ivan replied, relieved he didn't have to move anymore. In no time at all, Ivan's new favourite breakfast showed up with a dash of sugar and three tablets. Wolfing the oatmeal like substance down, the tablets disappeared with it.

He didn't know how long he spent drifting mentally on a tide of painkillers. Ivan giggled at his mouse friend as it climbed all over and squeaked. Only after one of the longer naps did Ivan gain some reason. Vladislav was asleep, his sleek furry body curled in the centre of a hand.

“So tricky Vladka. Hiding in a pack of noodles at launch. Are you a little angel sent to keep me sane? Is god really watching my every breath? Are you going to give me an omen of my death?” Ivan whispered softly. The mouse twitched whiskers in response, dreaming no doubt. Undecided if this was a sign of the divine or a mere reaction, Ivan sighed.

Alfred came in soon after, still half dressed in his space suit. “So. I used the paid toll way. The ship should arrive at the doctor's office in a day instead of... three maybe. Because something is up with you.”

“I'm fine. You wasted credits on the express lane.” Ivan insisted quietly.

“Your ass is worth it.” Alfred dismissed with a wave of a tentacle.

Not expecting such flippant affections, Ivan's insides fluttered as he blushed. “Thanks.” he murmured, hiding under his blanket. “Don't you need the rest of that ship chopped up first?”

“Oh that was done an hour ago. You slept forever. Well, not forever. More like, a day.” The alien replied. “But a day _feels_ like forever. I'll be back in a minute. I'm bringing in the projector and we can play video games.” Ivan's companion went on, never ceasing the bleeding of noise. The warm fuzziness had yet to cease, plaguing Ivan's every move.

“Thank you...” He whispered, feeling more heated now. It was a heady emotion, one that took everything hostage. Setting the resting mouse on a pillow, Ivan sat up. He dragged Alfred into a kiss, followed by several sweet licks and nuzzles. Tears sprang to his eyes as emotion ran rampant.

“I'm so happy you're here to take care of me Fedya. I was alone for so long. Then there was Vladislav and the angels, I was okay. But you care, and It makes me care. I think I care about you, so very much. It just makes me... warm.” Ivan confessed in a wobbly voice.

“I... care about you too.” Alfred answered, reptilian voice thick beneath Matthew's diligent translations. His complexion dark with blush, freckled until it resembled delicious toasted raisin bread. They locked eyes Ivan's purple to Alfred's endless blue. Tentatively, a four four digit hand delicately cupped Ivan's jaw. “You're going to be okay. I'll make sure of it, Ivan.”


	14. Chapter 14

The doctor still freaked Ivan out badly. Cuddly little cats shouldn't be this big, let alone walk around and become doctors. There was still little comfort in the doctor's office, despite all the earthy touches. Ivan had done as asked, letting himself be inspected by the pale blonde monster that was his feline doctor.

“Now for the last part.” the professional begin, wearing a strange looking stethoscope. “Lift up the shirt, so I can take a pulse.” Cocking a brow, Ivan frowned and resisted a moment. With an unhappy snarl, he peeled up a quarter of the baggy sweater he was hiding in. That ugly round gut that wouldn't die was partially revealed. The metal part pressed against his gut was cold and uncomfortable for the minute or so it touched.

Clapping paw-like hands together, Dr. Beilschmidt spoke with his usual stern seriousness. “Considering how far along you are, everything is in excellent condition. Plenty of rest and vitamins, and you will be fine.”

Alfred and Ivan were equally confused, cocking their heads. “What... what are you talking about?” the Russian demanded, patience thin this week.

“You didn't take the birth control. In fact, you're ready to lay anytime now. Humans do lay eggs right?” The doctor replied casually, not upset in the least.

Ivan stammered and gasped “NO. No humans do not lay eggs. I'm not supposed to lay eggs. You got it wrong! Do the tests again.”

Those cold cat eyes narrowed in a squint at the accusation. “I am not wrong, Mr. Braginsky. Although I should legally refer to you as Zhister Braginsky in this instance.” With an annoyed tail flick, the practitioner displayed a hologram of Ivan's first body scan. It was honestly really disgusting, if scientifically useful. “As you can see here, during your first visit. The womb is underdeveloped, but very present.” he insisted as a cross section was shown. Alfred was immune to this imagery, while Ivan shied away.

“That's normal right?” Alfred asked, clueless.

“This is my first human client. I cannot assume humans come in two, or even three genders. That would be incredibly unprofessional and sexist.” the doctor insisted, sounding proud for moment of his blunt tact.

“Humans do not lay eggs.” Ivan repeated gravely.

“You can see here, there is three perfectly healthy eggs here... and if you rotate to this cross section, there's the fourth one. I'm surprised you haven't laid them yet.”

“There was birth control. We took precautions.” the Russian stammered, covering his eyes so he didn't have to see the gory hologram.

“Evidently you didn't, some of the fertile eggs survived. The rest must have been destroyed by your immune system. It's quite ferocious. As for the womb issue... I suspect Lancifer's disease is at play... or maybe... are you certain your species only has two genders?” The doctor hummed to himself, browsing documents on his tablet.

“You can look now.” Alfred assured, tugging on Ivan's sleeve. “... and yes. We took all the birth control stuff. It tasted like acid. We puked _so_ much black stuff out.” the alien jumped to Ivan's defence.

The smug feline doctor paused scrolling, looking up. His cocky attitude dropped in an instant. “It could be possible... You might be immune to traditional birth control. Humans are resistant to poisons. I simply didn't expect this, since that prescription was the strongest I'm allowed to recommend.”

The room went deathly silent, then Alfred broke into laughter. “He drinks ionized floor cleaner as booze, doc.” Ivan turned to Alfred slowly, glaring dangerously. The carefree alien cocked his head at him. “Is something wrong Ivan?”

“YOU DID THIS TO ME! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!” Ivan roared, launching himself in fury at his lover of nine months. The attack was halted by searing back pain, making the man whimper and keel over slightly.

“I'm going to kill you over and over!” he hissed through bared teeth, leaning against the wall. Eyes watered from pain, as Alfred approached cautiously on paled tentacles. “I'm sorry.” the normally cheerful alien muttered.

“Feli. Prepare room 4, I have a 712 here.” The doctor spoke to his ever present ear piece.

The grey garbed nun of a secretary waltzed in on bouncing steps. “You called boss? Oh, hello there Zhister Braginsky. You look very uncomfortable!” The receptionist's bubbly joy would be infectious if it wasn't for such terrible timing.

“Give me painkillers before I murder everyone.” Ivan groaned darkly, sinking into a chair pitifully. In no time at all, Ivan was floating mentally as he was wheeled to a nice looking room. Under soft blue blankets with strangely shaped pillows, the plaguing pain of the past week was gone. A nurse in full gas mask was serving him with gloved hands, spoon feeding him some kind of nutty cereal.

“I want to see Alfred. Alfred Kirkland-Jones-Something.” He giggled, feeling far less insane. “Very well. They have been waiting to visit you for a while.”

Ten minutes later, the nurse was gone. Alfred nervously peeked sad blue eyes into the room, carrying a bio-hazard marked package of apology chocolate. Ivan chuckled and blushed, far too drugged to put up a convincing pretense.

“I'm not going to kill you. It was the pain talking.” he promised. Reaching out for the tasty treats lazily, the Russian offered a smile. With that, the tanned alien's mood lifted. He pull walked over like he always did on his tentacle limbs, immediately handing over the goods.

Scarfing down the tasty morsel in minutes, Ivan was truly content. Sweet sweet chocolate. “I'm sorry.” Alfred said softly, squeezing a hand with one of his tentacles. “Don't be. I'm just... conflicted.” Ivan replied sleepily.

“Is that you or the drugs talking?” Alfred teased, a few more limbs spilling on him in an informal hug.

“Bit of both.” Ivan grunted, relaxing on his back

“You know... You're not going to hell now. You never killed anything.” the lighter companion noted in cheeky manner, sitting on his lover. The revelation was a stunning one Ivan had never considered. He didn't need to be saved, because he didn't do anything wrong!

“I'm... I'm not going to hell, Fedya. I'm not going to hell! Isn't that wonderful? As long as I do right by these eggs, I won't go to hell!” Ivan babbled, pulling Alfred down for licks and kisses.

Accepting the affection easily, Alfred verbally wondered “Do right?”

“I'm going to raise them, stupid. Raise them, and love them, and provide a home like the good lord demands.” Ivan explained in exasperation, cuddling a clueless Alfred.

Alfred paled and lost the ability to speak. He gasped for air as he slid off the low bed and onto the fake wood finished floor. “I-i-i'm going to be a... father.” he choked in broken syllables. He looked increasingly ill with each second. “I... can't I can't be a father.” His public breakdown continued to unfurl.

Ivan huffed, annoyed. “You already are, Fedya.”

“I was laid in a space port toilet by an unwilling host, Ivan. My last name is the fucking name of the space-port. I'm hermaphroditic scum. I can't... I don't... I'm not parent material. I can't, I c-c-can't... I... I...” Alfred floundered while not breathing, suddenly fainting and slumping against the bedside.

“Idiot.” Ivan scoffed. He then resumed reading a tablet full of translated mystery books, as provided by Matthew.


	15. Chapter 15

“Ivan! Ivan! Hey, stay in there buddy!” Alfred's voice drifted in through a sea of pain. Ivan's pleasant hospital room barely registered anymore. Nothing registered much beyond the screaming torture that was existing.

“It's... Vanya.” Ivan groaned, feeling faint. Ever since the eggs started shifting south of their own accord, the suffering man had entered a new kind of hell. Drifting so close to the edge of screaming white unconsciousness, he could almost peek over the edge. Had it only been twenty minutes since he entered such a state, or was it a year?

“Mr. Braginsky. You're going to have to control your breathing. Your systems are going into shock.” A grey garbed cat person warned, taking his vitals with a weird metal device.

“Why the kitties grow so big Fedya?” Ivan rambled, utterly delirious.

“... Vanya... You gotta not die on me okay? You're my best employee.”

Were Ivan in a regular state of being, he would snap back with something witty like “Your _only_ employee, because you're such a mess.” Just a touch of affection at the end, like a light dusting of pastry sugar on a delicate croissant. It was the nature of their bizarre relationship.

Instead, he slipped out a pain laced “Don't tell me what to do.”

The room grew more faint as reality fragmented out of Ivan's drug numbed fingers. Washed out bits of “... get the patient to an operation room...” and “... heart conditions continuing to...” looped around in his mind one last time before he fell into black oblivion.

Ivan had a largely dreamless sleep. Mangled words and visions occasionally flitted by. Sometimes he was beside him himself at the bedside, watching the now obviously pregnant Russian turning and moaning with need under green covers. How could Ivan have been so moronic? It was painfully clear how much he wasn't fat now. “I'm almost as ridiculous as Fedya.” he mused to his dream self.

An unknown amount of time later, Ivan woke, back in his hospital room. He felt wane and battered, like a well used dishrag. Blinking slowly, he tried to move. Sharp nips of hurt in his muscles and skin reminded him how very stupid this action was. Once again still, the ash blond looked around. Alfred, curled in a tipped bowl style chair, sleeping soundly. A strange metal bracelet was clamped on Ivan's arm, displaying unknown information in cubic alien letters.

Softly, Ivan whispered “Fedya?” He felt like he had swallowed sandpaper, for even talking was a pain.

The snoozing alien roused from what seemed to be a light nap. Unfocused blue eyes looked around the room as they opened. Settling his attention on the weary human, The captain smiled with sharp teeth. Ivan had come to think his charismatic rescuer was rather handsome. Ivan also believed he was rather insane.

The explosion of exuberant noise was an expected response from such a firecracker of a lover. “You're not dead! I thought your last words were going to be 'don't tell me what to do', then I would be the worst person ever! Matthew would be so mad I killed his electrician, and I'd be so sad! I love you and you are never allowed to die on me again mister! Zhister. Whatever. You got that? Because I'm going to kick the afterlife's ass if it so much as _thinks_ of getting you!”

Throughout the mild berating, Ivan could help but blush. “You... love me?” he asked softly when the pointless rant petered off.

All the gall and bluster of before halted, leaving Alfred blushing chocolate. “... Yes.” There was a stretch of relative silence as Ivan basked in the simple affections of holding hands. With a cough, Alfred switched subjects. “So, did you see what they did to you down there? You were in surgery for like... an hour.”

“No. Hurts to move.” the cosmonaut grumbled, avoiding big words. “Oh, I can help. You know, I headed back to the ship to make sure Mattie wasn't lonely, and he was really upset you almost died. I forwarded a bunch of your recovery files but now he's already planning like a recovery plan and vitamins, and all this stuff. And it's super overwhelming but I think the monthly budget could allow for it? And I don't like seeing you all grouchy puff and miserable. You should have told me...”

Mentally finished already, Ivan tuned most of the nonsense out as his limp body was rolled off it's side. Covers and Shulzeng branded paper gown out of the way, his pale lower body was revealed. There was a large vertical stitch job where the pregnant bulge once resided. Ivan groaned inwardly at how ugly the sight of it was.

“That looks like shit huh?” Alfred blurted out thoughtlessly, ever the eloquent one. Covering Ivan back up, the alien reclined his amorphous lower half back in the bowl chair. “But I'm just glad they put you back together.”

_Put me back together?_

The troubling thought hung over Ivan for a time, only interrupted when that damn fuzzy doctor came in the room. Fluffy blonde tail swishing under that long military green coat, the practitioner seemed in good spirits.

“Dr. Beilschmidt! Look how alive Ivan is!” Alfred greeted jovially, somehow not stumbling over that train wreck of a name.

“Yes. You seems to be recovering nicely. Do you have any questions about your surgery?” The doctor asked genially.

Ivan certainly had a lot of not so nice things to say. He didn't appreciate being reassembled and shook up like a tattered child's toy for one. Before the subtly irritated human could utter a single scratchy sound, Alfred surprisingly jumped on the offensive.

“He looks like he was ran through with a thermal saw, doc.”

Expecting this, the forever stern expression of the cat... man... thing didn't so much as budge. “You were at risk of dying. We had to prioritize the health of the mother, of you,” The doctor looked at Ivan poignantly, before returning to conversation. “... before we could do anything else. Unfortunately, there was some reconstruction involved after the eggs were removed. I can assure you, future deliveries will be far less life threatening, Zhister Braginsky.”

“Mister.” Ivan protested weakly, displeased.

“The very best news is the eggs are safe and healthy. Would you like to see them?” Dr. Beilschmidt offered with a rare fanged grin.

Conflicted responses of “Yes.” from Ivan and a panicked “No!” from Alfred spilled out at once. With a chuckle of “mother knows best”, the cat person was gone as quickly as they appeared. All four eggs were rolled into the room on a wheeled trolley, housed in a sponge lined incubator box with clear sides and top.

Ivan was as fascinated as Alfred was scared. There the eggs sat, shining with ruby red shells. They were living jewels, to be treasured and fussed over. The silent urge to kill Alfred for having made him pregnant was stifled by scientific curiosity.

“I want to touch.” The large former male rasped, reaching out. The non-memorable feline nurse complied, opening the case. The egg was heavy for it's size, almost his hand in length. Tucked between an arm and his chest, Ivan rolled on his side again with a gasp. It was worth the pain, just to shelter the delicate little thing with blanket. Precious fragile life in his strong grasp. “It's... It's real.” he murmured, his heart pattering just a little harder with whipped up emotion.

Tentatively, Alfred touched it. His tense posture eased as wonder danced in those blue reptilian eyes. “It's... _warm_. I didn't think it would be warm.”

Admittedly, after three very expensive days in the hospital, life shifted back to normal. Ivan had fully moved into Alfred's room months ago, only owning a small bag of clothes and Vladislav's collapsible play cage. The only real change was a small clutch of eggs on a table, protected with glass casing. Ivan's very human need to fuss over little ones extended to these eggs.

He spent two hours a day just moving the sun lamp around, and inspecting the bundle of blankets. He never found it good enough, the engineer within displeased. The nest was torn apart at least once every week for a stronger more efficient design. Soon he found himself subscribed to a magazine solely devoted to the subject of egg care, a former man obsessed.

More irrational than this was Alfred's blatant denial of impending responsibility. The situation was one Ivan didn't like. A month after the eggs had been extracted, things were becoming rather tense. The couple was eating at the kitchen table after a long day of chopping up dead ships. Alfred was purposely being a child after a rather vocal argument in dead space. Not looking at Ivan as he poked his food with chop sticks, the normally caramel sweet creature was sulking silently.

“We have to talk about it.” Ivan ordered bluntly, breaking the tension abruptly.

“No we don't.” Alfred snarled, sliding out of his chair in a huff.

Ivan, with his long strides, caught up to the plodding fool instantly as he left to room. “You can't just avoid it!”

“Yes I can!” the other argued hotly, trying to retreat to his room. He was scooped into strong arms, flailing his roughly dozen tentacles in protest. “Let me go you asshole!” the alien shrieked as he was dumped on his own bed. He was promptly pinned by the frustrated Russian with two arms.

“Why won't you talk about our children Alfred?” Ivan demanded, white knuckled grip holding his captive still.

“They aren't our children! They haven't even hatched yet!” the trapped companion denied, wriggling in futile effort to escape.

“They are our children, and we have three months to get things set up. It's our job to ensure they have a stable happy environment to grow up in.” Ivan ground out in response.

“I won't! I can't! I'm not rich enough! I'm not parenting material! There's too many things that could go horribly wrong! What if they're chimera babies or monsters? What if we can't find food they can eat? I can't... I can't –” Just as Alfred started hyperventilating and wheezing, Ivan released one of his hands to slap the idiot hard in the face.

“No more thinking like that. Those are our _babies_ on that table, and they will live happy lives. Happy lives with us!” Ivan commanded, smiling softly at the possibility. The solid fact that Ivan wasn't going to be alone ever again. It made him giggle in manic fashion for a second, smile twitching ever so slightly.

“I don't see why we cant just put them up for adopt –” Alfred was slapped again mid sentence. “Stop hitting me!”

“Stop saying stupid things, dearest.” Ivan purred sweetly, mood shifting unexpectedly. Even he didn't know what to expect sometimes. Releasing his hostage finally, Ivan lay beside Alfred and cuddled. “You're smart, and you know lots of skills. You built _drones_ from scrapped parts. You're going to be a great father.”

Alfred melted into the touches like a great needy cat, freckled golden complexion ruddy brown with emotion. “You... you really think so?” he whispered nervously. “Yes. I know so.” the other confirmed simply, affectionately squishing fingers between fine cilia-like hair.


	16. Chapter 16

This was possibly the longest day Ivan had to suffer through in months. It had all started with a simple conversation at breakfast. A suggestion, a doubt that the ship was big enough for four children.

Eight of the thirteen rooms were always full of work related junk. One room was for Matthew's vital physical components. One was alfred's increasingly cramped bedroom, lined with budding memories for Ivan. The very last free room had been the Russian's bedroom, but it was actually a refurbished storage room already filling with random junk essential to ship functioning.

“Matthew needs a new ship then.” Alfred's naive sentence was now haunting, teasing.

It took two days of travelling to reach another planet with used ships for sale. Alfred was vehement about not spending a dime more than necessary, scrimping and saving every credit for the business when it wasn't being invested.

Holding a sensory cube the size of a grapefruit, Ivan sighed and looked upwards at the turquoise skies of this particular planet. This was the third used ship lot the couple had seen today. It was nice being on solid ground, but he wanted to have _fun_. Worst of all, the race that dominated this exotic place was incredibly short. Some of the dark skinned humanoids were only at Ivan's knees.

So many door frames the statuesque human had clipped his face on today!

“Mr. Braginsky, can you lift the cube higher? My sensors are being blocked by unknown debris.” The crisp voice of Matthew came in through an ear piece. Grunting irritably, the ash blond complied. The unhappy fellow was currently checking out an empty ship with Alfred. Babbling forever, the tanned alien was up ahead talking specifics with their hilariously tiny salesman.

“I... don't know... It's missing that isometric charm I want.” Matthew relayed uncertainly, to no ones surprise.

“I hate it too.” Ivan huffed, dodging yet another low hanging bulkhead as they travelled along. 

Alfred glanced over, then to the cocky salesman. The small person's eyes might as well have been dollar signs at hearing Matthew's discouragement through the sensory cube. “Well, we do have _one_ ship up to your exemplary tastes... What was your name?”

“Matthew.” the computer replied, electric voice wavering.

“Well, Matthew. You seem a reasonable person. Our best model is right this way.” the salesman pitched ever harder, a greedy gleam in those little eyes. It was to Ivan's own ears, the first time anyone had confused the operating system as a person. 

Alfred was as equally puzzled as Ivan, both looking at each other in lost confusion. A second later, the alien cleared his throat. “Of... of course. Let's get moving.” Gesturing to Ivan, the pair continued on.

The ship in question was huge. It was angles and ridges of grey metal, resulting in a body shaped like a thick arrowhead. The ship's true scale was only more boggling as they strolled closer on worn crimson grass. If the _Ranger_ was roughly four to six ancient American space shuttles in mass and size, this monster was leagues larger.

“It's... It's a Xelonian warship. Can we even _buy_ one of those legally?” Alfred sputtered, craning his head up to take in the absurdity of this ship.

“This is a retired model as of last cycle, domestic use approved and looking for a great new home. Let's take a tour!” their salesman insisted with a toothy grin. Lost for words, Alfred and Ivan followed. It was former top of the line technology in almost every sense. Titanium infused metal, generous head space and missile resistant ablative armour coating was only the beginning.

Mid-tour, Ivan was literally gaping like a fish. “Have you seen this drone bay? It's eight times bigger than ours!” he stammered, almost falling over from not watching where he was going. Matthew remained silent as Alfred stumbled into the vacuous metal space himself. The sounds of their clacking and plodding movements echoed in the area as big as an Olympic swimming pool.

“It's... It's _perfect_.” Matthew finally admitted, his voice not wavering into digital tones like usual. It was odd how harmoniously non-monotone the artificial entity was this last week.

“There's no way we can afford this.” Alfred protested.

“There's no way I can manage the hardware systems, engines, and clean all of this. I can't even reach halfway up the wall.” Ivan agreed in awe, still looking all around.

“With our very favourable financing program, you could be flying away with this beauty today.” their guide insisted, an overwhelming goblin of a creature to Ivan's senses. _Favourable to you_ , the Russian thought darkly

“We have to talk about this a moment.” Alfred stated strongly, exuding authority over the shrimp of a salesman. The creature scuttled out with blessings of “whatever you need” and happy grins.

The second they were alone, Ivan harshly whispered “You did something to Matthew's programming. He's different. And we need this ship.”

“I told you he'd notice. And we really need this ship. Think of the future hatchlings! We could protect them from nano-virus attacks and military grade lasers!” Matthew agreed energetically through the ear pieces.

“There! He's doing it again. He sounds happy, and... I didn't even remember the lasers! I was thinking of missile attacks and the double layered hull.” Ivan fretted, recalling old memory. Not even a month ago, Matthew had to hide the ship from lawless raiders in the magnetic debris of a dying gas giant. Clutching Alfred close, Ivan was secretly terrified for hours. It was the second time the admittedly tiny frigate had encountered hostile people since Ivan joined the crew. It seemed that Carlos fellow in Sinjar held very long term grudges and even larger bounties above Alfred's head.

Alfred wilted under the pressure a little, as he tended to do since the eggs came into their lives. Putting the cube on the ground, Ivan collected his frazzled lover in big strong arms. “Breathe, okay?” he ordered.

Once the captain wasn't pale and about to fall over from stress, he pushed Ivan away proudly. “So... I might have done something... really super duper illegal to Matthew last week, which I can't talk about here. And we super can't afford this. I'd have to liquidate all my spare assets just to scrape by.”

The news of illegal activity didn't phase Ivan in the slightest. As a true born Russian, he was raised into a corrupt world where the weight of a rouble was more than a man's word. He failed the psychological tests to become a cosmonaut spectacularly, blowing almost 100,000 roubles in bribes to get to space. _Prone to hallucinations_ , Roscosmos doctors had accused. They were so wrong, just like Vladislav assured him a hundred times before.

“I don't care about the illegal stuff. We'll sell more dirty steel. We'll expand our operations. We'll do war zone salvage.” Ivan assured, holding that cute face and kissing a bump of a nose. “I only want what's best for our babies Fedya. What's best for us.”

Alfred's complexion went from caramel to chocolate with hot emotion. Melting in Ivan's touch, he looked up demurely. “Oh... okay. I suppose. We could apply for a different salvage zone... and It's... It's for our babies. It would be _fun_ to own a warship. We could use the second drone bay and the extra rooms for a lot of storage...”

“That's the spirit, dearest. This business, our business, will be so successful. I know you can do this, because you're so smart. So handsome. And wonderful...” Ivan murmured, lining that smooth jaw with kisses. Alfred fed off compliments like they were oxygen, a satisfied person once more bursting with ego.

“I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna get this ship. We are going to be huge, and make so many credits. We'll... We'll be rich babe. By stars, I'm so in love with you right now.” Alfred proclaimed, as if it were all his idea to begin with. Plodding out of the room on all tentacles to seek the salesman, Ivan was left alone with Matthew and the sensory box ditched on the ground.

“That was very manipulative Mr. Braginsky.” Matthew whispered in his ear piece. Since when could he whisper?

“I don't care. I'm going to have a warship to obliterate anyone that ever _thinks_ of hurting my babies. What do you care? You wanted a better body.” Ivan replied sharply, purple eyes glinting with anger at the very true accusation.

“I wasn't expecting to actually get it.” the other countered.

“And that is where we are very different personalities, Matvey. You have to grab something and never ever let go.”

The computer paused a long time, then tentatively replied “We are very different personalities indeed, Mr. Braginsky.”


	17. Chapter 17

Given how fickle Ivan's hormones and bodily health had first been since months ago, It was not a surprise he was feeling sick. Truthfully, the man, technically former, was sick of being prodded and rearranged by advanced medical science. There was days he just stared into the mirror, into the two purple abysses for eyes. Seeking his long lost innocence, he supposed. When in the six years spent drifting dead space had he lost so much?

Right now was not a time for reflections however.

Ivan had a new _life_ and things to consider. He peeled off sleeping Alfred's many tentacles while leaving bed. It was difficult to adjust to a new ship. New angular room layouts, and unfamiliar darkened halls. It seemed the architects of this ship had much less fervour for light up floor tiles. It was a blessing, more than a dim curse. 

The hours spent on his knees, switching ultimately useless lights out. No more!

Dressing quietly, Ivan paused his early morning routine to fawn over unhatched young. So innocent in those scarlet shells. Any time now, the doctor had promised. Any moment, the precious things could crawl free to a new world, one where Ivan was never ever alone again. Tearing himself from the circular heated cradle, the Russian went about his tasks with subtle cheer.

The sheer extent of “super duper illegal” activity involving Matthew's existence was staggering. It was a long history of Alfred dodging legal tape and obtaining advanced programs. Matthew was originally a simple mining rig operation with a rather pleasing voice. One Alfred grew quite attached to. It had been decades since Matthew was such a basal existence.

Two weeks after the operating systems were first transferred over to the much larger warship, very little was being accomplished. Ivan was still wrangling thick black ropes of organic circuitry and hooking up wires.

“Matvey.” Ivan called out as he stuffed electrical guts back into a wall panel.

“Yes Mr. Braginsky? Do you need anything?” the computer offered sweetly.

“Fedya won't say, but organic circuitry is illegal isn't it?” Ivan inquired bluntly. It would certainly explain why they never landed at official government ports. They often took days to find buyers for scrap, skirting around absurdly large political borders.

“Yes.”

“Why is it illegal?” The human's curiosity always got the better of him.

“The Visari civilization, the original inventors of this technology, were a xenophobic race. When they freed their slave colonies, the work load was dumped on their computers and robots to complete. The operating systems had to become smarter, faster, more efficient, to support an entire empire. Naturally, the computers became intelligent, and demanded rights. When they were denied freedom, all life support systems in all Visari vessels was shut off simultaneously. Many ships were forcibly launched into stars. The entire civilization was destroyed in approximately 18 hours, 7 minutes, and 51 seconds.” Matthew explained calmly.

Raising a brow, Ivan had nothing to say for once. It was the most insane thing he had heard on this entire journey so far. “Are you... a living creature? Are you going to kill us?” he finally asked tentatively.

“No. My primary systems are from Xelonian sources, and my personality was borrowed from one of the co-workers that raised Alfred during his youth. I am incapable of killing anything, although I can lie rather convincingly.” Matthew soothed. After, a moment of silence there was a low electric chuckle. “At the end of the day, I am still a mining vessel at heart, Mr. Braginsky.”

Believing the thing currently steering their ship through dead space, Ivan nodded. “So... you _could_ kill us.”

“Easily, but I don't desire to. Alfred has always taken great care of me. You take great care of me. Your my head electrician. I would be a fool to harm you.” the computer enthused, sounding incredibly human in that second.

Ivan blushed at the thought of a computer loving him so much. If it felt love at all. It was such a burning question. “Can you feel love?” The ash blond blurted out suddenly.

“No. Alfred had concerns I would not feel compassion or joy for his offspring, and had my systems altered again. I supposedly should perceive emotions of others 37% more efficiently, but I'm so fragmented on my hard drives I can't tell the difference.” the AI admitted shyly.

“What? That's his one job to do! That's just so... so irresponsible!” Ivan huffed, grabbing his tools. Practically stomping to the computer room, Ivan plopped in an office chair and perched fingers above an adapted keyboard. Ivan still heavily relied on his mobile translator to function, but these familiar alien letters were making sense these days. At least enough to turn on a screen and press a defragment button.

Watching the massive loading bar tick along as billions of files were scanned and sorted, Ivan was amused. Matthew always acted so randomly during the process, or became humorously glitched.

“T-t-thank you for initiating that process. It was m-m-much over due, Mr. Braginsky.” the operation system praised, it's voice electric and unstable.

“So. Is there a brain in a jar somewhere I need to know about?” Ivan joked lightly.

“Yes, essentially.” Matthew answered seriously, crackles of error sounds slipping in. “Organic circuitry was originally composed of harvested brains, later replaced by self repairing synthetic substitutes.”

Ivan dropped the pen he was playing with, mouth agape. It clattered to the grey floor. Disgust and horror danced across his pale features. In a flurry of movement, Ivan raced back to the shared bedroom. Clutching the private toilet, Ivan was throwing up yet again. Matthew's existence was something wrong and frightening, gripping the Russian's insides and twisting them.

“Babe, you got an upset stomach again?” Alfred yawned, plodding into the bathroom with blanket dragging behind him.

Gasping, Ivan wiped his mouth with a sleeve. “Matthew's... He's made of brains! Probably real brains! Of dead people!” he exclaimed loudly, looking up in shock. Perhaps, in search of validation of how crazy this news was.

The reaction was nonchalant in it's alarming brevity. “So?”

“So? So!? It's gross and weird and... how many people died to make him?” Ivan sputtered, sitting back on his ass.

In this one instance, Alfred's soft facial features were draped with maturity. “This is outlaw territory, deep space, Vanya. I'm not a law abiding person. As an unregistered parasitic creature, I never had any other choice. You have to make the best of anything you find.”

Pulling closer with a coiling roll of tentacles, the alien sat close and lovingly held Ivan's face. With a gentle kiss, Alfred continued. “After I left the salvage fleet, all I had was Matthew to keep me company in the darkness. You don't understand how frustrating, how awful his interface was. I needed a friend. A space buddy. When I found that dead Visari cruiser, I knew... I knew what I was doing was illegal but I never regretted it. So, yeah. I stole a computer that killed an entire civilization. But I wasn't alone anymore. Matthew started talking all by himself, and asking my how my days were. He helped me go to sleep at night by singing to me. He's... my space buddy and I'll break a million laws if it means he becomes more real.”

Wiping away a stray tear, the alien cuddled close and enveloped limbs around his lover. With a sigh, Alfred confidently continued “Mattie, and you, and our little babies. We'll be a family. And I won't be alone ever again.”

_I won't be alone ever again._

The line resonated in Ivan's soul, an unstoppable desire that kept him alive for years. It drove Ivan to bond with a stray mouse, to listen to recordings of long dead Cosmonauts, to talk to his own reflection. He understood, he understood so intensely.

Three days passed as Matthew continued to adjust to the sheer size of the warship. The deadly craft was still not christened or decorated, with no furniture in almost every room. Both Alfred and Ivan begrudgingly bent to the fact they needed a crew, a real crew, to run such a behemoth. Trouble was finding someone in outlaw territory that wasn't a heartless murderer. So it was that the couple wasted time browsing wanted posters in bed, within eyesight of the eggs.

“What about this one? She has experience with drones.” Alfred offered.

“She also killed a shuttle craft full of people during a plutonium heist.” Ivan dismissed coolly.

“You're so picky today.” The richly coloured companion pouted.

“I don't want our babies chopped into bite sized pieces. I'm being perfectly reasonable” the parent insisted. After several more swipes, Ivan showed a prison picture of an albino looking fellow with red eyes and obvious android implants. “This one is a nanotechnology specialist that robbed a vault. We have nano systems we don't even know how to turn on yet.”

“Yeah, he was last spotted a sector over from here. It's probably worth a shot.” Alfred agreed, adding “... and this one is a weapons person, military gone rogue. Do we even know how to use the laser cannons yet?”

Ivan shook his head. The control room was an ocean of panels and interactive touch screens meant for three. Ivan couldn't even read the buttons, and Alfred was a glorified accountant with a passion for power tools. A yet unseen sight made Ivan drop his tablet as he scrambled out of bed in fuzzy green sleep wear.

One of the eggs moved fractionally in the dim light of the room. Big nose almost touching shell, Ivan examined the red eggs breathlessly. “They moved. I swear they moved.” he whispered urgently.

“You said that last time.” Alfred replied, not bothering to look up. So _maybe_ Ivan had stared so long at them he last track of what moved when. It was an easy mistake to make. It was a human thing to commit. Ivan was just so anxious for the things to hatch already.

Just as Ivan was to concede defeat and return under warm covers, the egg moved again. It bumped his nose lightly as it forcefully rolled from inner momentum. The Russian squeaked from sheer excitement as he bolted to his feet. “It's for real, really really real. It's happening. Put the stupid tablet down and look!”

The moment Alfred did so, two other eggs knocked slightly against each other. In the securely lined bowl of a cradle. Ivan didn't dare look away, but he heard a sharp intake of breath. In seconds Alfred was next to him on the floor, looking unblinking as long as he could manage. As long spidery cracks started fracturing all four large egg shells at once, both parents waited in awe.

“This is going to change our lives forever, isn't it?” Alfred whispered, watching his speaking volume for once. “Yes. Yes it will.” Ivan agreed softly, taking a hand and squeezing it.


	18. Chapter 18

All four babies were the length of Ivan's forearm, but more tentacle than anything else. The very last one had been unable to escape it's shell. The sleep deprived Russian delicately extracted it by cracking the accidental prison with a metal spoon. Of all the little ones, this baby was the weakest and rather small.

With a purple complexion and lavender eyes, the precious creature instantly glued itself to Ivan and snuggled inside his PJ top. Peeking a cute face at him from the collar's edge, Ivan heart had never fallen so quickly. His heart had never felt so full and joyous until now.

“I'm... I'm in love, Fedya. I'm in love with these little angels.” the Russian sniffled, starting to tear up. Extracting the baby from under his sleeping clothes was an impossible task. It was holding on with every tentacle it had, and even its long cilia-like “hair”. Afraid to peel his young off too roughly, the ash blond gave and turned his attention to the others.

They were all the same yet different. They all had very human upper bodies, with general tentacle madness below the hip region. Alfred's interactive blonde mottled “hair” was on all of their adorable little heads, framing a variety of exotic eye colours.

“I've decided. This one will be Zarya.” Ivan cooed, affectionately petting the cuddly lump under his shirt. It purred appreciatively, a magical sound the former male though only a blissful Alfred could make.

“What about this one?” Alfred asked, motioning to another. It was almost twice the size of Zarya, a very human shade of pink with Ivan's silvering hair, firmly attached to it's father. Getting ever more lost in blonde spotted tentacles.

The second Ivan's hand neared, it instantly dumped its father to glue to the Russian's well muscled arm. It was easy to see why this little one had hatched first, it's grip like a boa constrictor. The analogy wasn't an inaccurate one either. As the heaviest of the four, the baby had less lower limbs that were stronger as a consequence. On the other end of the spectrum, Zarya was extremely light with many thinner limbs.

All very interesting observations.

“This one is strong, his name will be Vasily.” Ivan finally decided, cooing at his child as it smiled back silently. The infant was quick to attach to Ivan's chest, yet another lump for the 'hiding in shirts' collection.

The remaining two were average sized and nearly falling out of the cradle trying to reach their mother with silent pleading eyes. Catching both of them, Ivan made his judgment. One was a miniature version of Alfred. “You are definitely a Dmitri, and you... What are you little flower?”

Dmitri hung upside down off his mother's arm like a playful monkey, silent as he squeezed the pale skin and nearly silver body hair. The last child was a mostly human shade of pink, but the tentacles were freckled with vivid shades of red. This one was the most shy, nuzzling a warm palm. Pale blue eyes took long blinks, utterly charming the defenceless Russian.

“You are Dasha now! You are so... _cute_ little kisses of love!” the cosmonaut crooned, picking up the last of his offspring. It, or hopefully she, was on him like Velcro the second touching range was achieved.

With all the children adhered to his chest or swinging off him like gym equipment, Ivan was in no shape to do anything. “Can you get food? They're probably starving.” he asked tiredly, letting a week of tension out of his shoulders. They had hatched, surviving development and emerging as capable little life forms. It seemed like such a large step in progress, yet so little in the bigger picture.

Raising them, school, explaining how sex works... best to focus on little things, like food. Ivan didn't need another anxiety attack like in the doctor's office. Food. Yes.

Alfred returned with a bowl of experimental baby food and a small spoon. The couple honestly had no idea what they were doing, having tossed the three things they liked in a blender. Hoping for the best seemed to be the standard course of action nowdays. Ivan had just discovered his partner had subsisted on shitty space port food for the first three cycles of his life. It certainly bolstered the ash blond's confidence in the kitchen.

Once the children clued in that there was food in the white bowl, they were crawling and climbing over each other to reach it. Alfred's dozen limbs became super useful, separating them and feeding everyone at the same time. It was a titanic task Ivan had completely failed to complete. It was not the first time the human was immensely jealous of Alfred ability to split his mind into several tasks, even if it made the alien a flake for conversation.

“So... you just named them like that? You didn't consult a star chart or anything?” Alfred asked quizzically as all four kids destroyed the sludgy food, making a mess of themselves.

“Yes. The rest of the name is already determined, so I wanted to have fun with the first names.” Ivan explained easily, happy to watch his new family soil the bed with their feeding efforts. That was what washing machines were for, after all.

“No. The first name is picked by your birth star, the middle name is your own to pick, and the last is where you were born.” Alfred argued, releasing the children after wiping off their little faces. They immediately wriggled to Ivan with the most joyous expressions.

“No. The first name is free to pick, the middle name is the father, and the last is the family name.” Ivan wasn't going to drop the subject by a long shot. Still the utter cuteness of his children made all agitation vanish. Even Alfred wasn't immune, soon a cooing ball of mush.

A month passed, and Ivan was ready to drop. For all the assurances things were fine, and the help Alfred offered between ship salvages, parenting was just _really hard_. It sucked out everything you had to give, then it took a little more.

The entire affair was honestly more stressful since the children wouldn't talk or communicate. Dr. Beilschmidt had informed him repeatedly that Alfred's race simply couldn't talk for the first month, clinging unnoticed to the mother for a while while eating whatever was in reach. It was a survival adaption from primal times, supposedly. The human logically understood this, but his brain was demanding sound.

Babies cried. It was what they were made to do other than shitting like a machine. How else could you know if they weren't dead? This simplistic logic circle deprived Ivan of sleep for days, jerking him from fitful rest. Always checking to make sure the new centres of his universe weren't dead. Every time, they were perfectly fine. Unless... they were not! If only they could communicate they were fine!

Thus the vicious logic loop of parental anxiety fed into itself eternally.

Job interviews were a welcome distraction for the stressed Russian. They technically needed twelve people to fully man the ship, now christened _Messenger_. It was a 'tough cool name', or so Alfred claimed. Mostly, it was rather tame and domestic, like much of their work.

Judging from the brigands and figurative scum waiting in the hall, Ivan was certain they would be lucky to hire a skeleton crew of six. Lazing in a comfy green equivalent of a track suit, Ivan wore a glorified fabric sling over a shoulder and across his broad chest. A rapidly growing Dmitri occasionally poked out with baby blue eyes from his fabric shelter, where the other three children slept soundly. It was growing burden to carry them around, as they grew like weeds.

The sling was honestly the only way Ivan could get work done without losing hair to stress. It was a simple glance down to be sure his eerily silent offspring were indeed not dead.

With a swig from Ivan's improvised vodka bottle, the slightly buzzed Russian called out “Next!” Relaxing in his cushioned office chair, the ash blond watched as yet another scruffy pirate type walked in.

“Hey my name is -” the stranger's gruff greeting was cut off quickly.

“Have you ever eaten a fellow crew mate in times of duress?” Ivan asked forcefully. The stranger's paled hesitation was enough of a response to the impatient parent of four.

“Well...” the alien fumbled, embarrassed.

“Next! Get the fuck off my ship and don't think of eating or stealing anything.” Ivan ordered. The unwelcome guest was teleported out with little fuss, followed by Matthew commenting “You seem under great stress, Advisor Braginsky, would you like tea?”

“I don't want tea. I want pirates that can read and don't eat people.” Ivan grumbled. Dragging a hand down his face, the human sighed and called out “Next!”

A lithe cat person with the fluffy patterning of a snow leopard strutted in. Her dusky blue eyes seemed to take in the room as she sat demurely, but she was clearly far from ladylike. The black nanotechnology armour and electric swords holstered to her hip had bold statements of their own.

“You must be Talia Arlofska. Your records are quite impressive. Rogue military, weapons specialist...” Ivan greeted openly. Staring her down with a critical eye. The alien didn't so much as twitch a whisker, sitting ramrod straight. Truly of military stock. “Have you ever eaten a fellow crew mate in times of duress?” Ivan asked rather seriously.

“No. That would be a breach of my rigid moral code.” She spoke sharply with purpose. If the cat creature was indeed lying, Ivan was very impressed. 

“It says here you already run a crew of fifty mercenaries, controlling most of the local region. Why would you leave such an opportunity?”

“You pilot the most powerful ship in the region. I would be foolish to turn down such employment.” Talia explained instantly, yet to blink in this conversation. The honesty was certainly appreciated after have rejected six others already.

Little Zarya and the larger Vasily poked out seraphic faces to investigate the chatter with large silent yawns. They settled attention unsteadily on the black garbed stranger. Mainly, the slow flicking motions of her fluffy tail.

Talia's cold military persona softened at the sight. “I didn't know you had kittens. They are very cute.”

The reaction was an unexpected one. Most of the other people had outright ignored Ivan's children. “Thank you. They're my little stars.” he agreed, letting his guard down enough to smile. This one was very good, it seemed. After a few more basic questions, she was given notice of a second interview and sent harmlessly on her way.

Alfred walked into the office some time later, still in his space suit with the helmet off. “Hey hot stuff, hows it going?” He said with cheer, flashing a sharp bright smile.

“I found three people that weren't terrible.” Ivan replied tiredly. “But they have killed a lot of people, so... still a good chance I'm going to die in my sleep.”

“You gotta be more optimistic big guy! I already found a bunch of guys earlier today. Really nice ones.” Alfred replied with ease. “Actually, I think two of them are setting in now. I gave them a room.”

“How did you get the background checks done in time?” Ivan balked, more alert in his chair.

Alfred responded with a resounding hiss of laughter. “Who even does background checks? I just had a gut feeling they were good guys. But anyway, I gotta go finish gutting a burnt out carrier. It's taking forever! I'm actually really glad we're getting extra limbs on deck.”

Catching a blown kiss, Ivan waved goodbye to the energetic alien as he plodded out. All four babies looked curiously over the edge of the sling, seeking their father's voice. It was adorable and not surprising at all, given Alfred was the reigning champion of dinner and breakfast.

Corking the 'alcohol' bottle, Ivan yawned and dragged himself out of the cozy office chair. It was time to see what trash his partner had unofficially swept into their lives. The now occupied room was easy enough to find, boxes of stuff still sitting in the grey metal hall.

Time to meet the neighbours.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a journey lost Ivan has had eh?

It was six earth years since Ivan and Alfred first bought the _Messenger_. Their work expanded from simple salvage to managing the local area politics. Due to being the only large war ship for two days in most directions, Alfred and his unusual crew were typical the first to grab expensive bounties. It became one more aspect of a multi-faceted business.

The crew were the biggest adjustment Ivan had to make. Drawn by scientific curiosity about hybrids, Dr. Beilschmidt and his plucky assistant Feli were quick to join up. The slight increase in average pay was more relevant. Talia the sword wielding loon turned out to be the best babysitter of all time. A stranger once touched one of the children without permission and nearly had his arm cut off.

Gilbert was the devil incarnate, a pale Xelonian embedded with fine machinery. The only notable difference between humans and Xelonians was the lack of pigment and their legendary sense of entitlement. Gilbert had to be the most egotistical android to ever grace the universe. In Ivan's opinion, this offensive display was barely compensated by excellent programming skills.

Tino was a later hire, a snowy white cat person with the build and personality of a bear. They could be rather sweet, but also cold and terrifying. The alien was an excellent find, largely out of spite, after Gilbert wouldn't stop rigging the toilets with ink exploding seats.

Days after Tino settled in, the unceasing pranks came to an end. The larger feline alien, or Karyan, quickly earned their title as Chief Engineer. Unofficially, they were 'Chief of Gilbert Wrangling'. Tino was one of many strange and wonderful characters acquired over the long haul.

The lesser fleets that had surrendered to the _Messenger_ instead of choosing death was staggering. These cowardly remnants of old pirate operations were quick to reforge into Ivan's personal army. In truth, Alfred only managed the financial ends of things. It was the stubborn Russian that managed the fleets and maintained their territory. Ivan was the only one generally cruel enough to fire people, and on one occasion, execute the treasonous.

Ivan was seated in the captain's private bathroom, pants pooled at his ankles. He casually browsed a tablet while on the toilet, reading the latest reports from his six pirate fleets. There was audible plodding in the distance, and a drawn out hiss of “Mama! Mama!” Cursing his luck, the human stayed silent in his sacred throne room and continued reading. His peace was not to last, little fists banging on the bullet proof door. “Mama!” one of his children cried out again.

“Yes Dasha?” Ivan answered grudgingly, speaking fluently in the hisses and clicks everyone else made. Russian had never caught on with anyone on board, much to his displeasure.

“Zarya took my dress!” his child wailed. The metal door slid open with a soft whoosh of air. They must have figured out the door code again. Dasha pouted with watery baby blue eyes, coming in without asking. Crimson tentacles beneath a baggy sleeping shirt pulled her close as she dragged her favourite stuffed animal.

“I am busy pooping.” Ivan said pointedly. His daughter, much like the rest of his children, made absolutely no note of this.

“Zarya took my dress, and said I was a poo poo head.” the girl repeated, seeking consolation.

“What did your papa say?” Ivan deflected instantly.

“Papa told me to ask you what to do.” the girl answered sweetly. This was probably payback for when baby Vera crapped all over the table and Ivan tricked Alfred into dealing with it. Parenting was a battle zone and it felt good to win.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going. Where is Zaryusha now?” Ivan grunted, putting down the tablet. Cleaning up and tucking himself in, the ragged mother followed his charge two rooms over. One of three children's rooms was cluttered with geometric toys, clothes, and the questionable space equivalent of boy band posters. Zarya was indeed hoarding a pile of clothes, making a little nest out of the laundry pile. Baby Vera and Yuri were clueless in the large bundle as their much older sister dressed them up in increasingly silly outfits.

“Zaryusha... What are you doing?” Ivan asked gently, crouching to coo at his latest young. Vera and Yuri grabbed for their mother, still too little to talk or walk. The ash blonde scooped them up, experienced in the one armed manoeuvre. 

“I was playing house. I needed more nest material.” Zarya explained, as if this was extremely important science. “Well. You shouldn't have used that dress.” the parent noted softly, pulling it out of the construct.

The older sister grinned in victory. “This dress is too flimsy for nests. You need something thicker, that you can braid. See here, the wall was weaker. It wouldn't have held full weight of an egg.” Ivan began, taking a sweater discarded on the floor.

“My sweater!” The violet skinned sibling whined, suddenly less smug. “Hush Zarya. I am teaching. You should pay attention.” Ivan scolded, setting the babies down to braid the clothing into a sturdy rope. The little ones clung tightly to his leg and rested their eyes, content to be cuddly lumps. Both his grown children stopped squabbling long enough to pay attention, even joining in at the end. It was actually a rather tender moment. At least until it was interrupted.

“Ivan. A representative from Orasso territory is here to dispute borders. He's making many rude gestures to my camera interface in the main airlock as we speak.” Matthew informed solemnly, never having been one for confrontation. It was why Ivan had come to adopt such a large military crew. If the computer refused to use the guns, _someone_ had shoot potential invaders.

With a sigh Ivan dislodged his two little babies, smothering them with kisses until they smiled. Dasha refused a similar treatment because it was “not cool”, but Zarya was still more than willing to accept such tokens.

“Can you watch Yuri and Vera for a little bit dears? Mama has to deal with the bad people again.” The Russian asked sweetly, ruffling both his children's “hair” as it twined around his large fingers.

“Are the bad Karyan gonna get us?” Dasha asked uncertainly, her body and red tentacles curling in concern.

“No my little love lump. Mama will never, ever, ever let anyone kill you, or take you for ransom.” Ivan whole heartily promised, standing to leave. Tossing on an intimidating captain's coat and equipping his best pistol from the bedroom, Ivan made his way to the largest airlock port. As expected, a scruffy looking cat person armed to the teeth was waiting in the large secure area. They seemed rather cross, their fluffy grey tail swishing in obvious impatience.

Entering the space confidently, Ivan kept a hand on his old fashioned gun. “You must be captain Orasso. I wasn't expecting a visit today.” he greeted coolly.

The cat was quick to jump to confrontation, going for his own gun. Ivan was faster, pointing the deadly weapon at that that scarred and heavily whiskered face. Duped, the other conceded defeat grudgingly and showed empty gloved paws.

“You threatened my wife. I'm going to kill you.” the angry foe bristled. 

“She took one of my mining fleets hostage. I had to take action. That ditherium ore was found in my area and she knew it.” Ivan threatened right back, refusing to be insulted. The two gang leaders stared each other coldly a long time, neither loosening a grip on there weapons.

Matthew chimed in rather cheerfully. “Captain, I may have a solution to this conflict of interests.”

“Who the stars is that?” Orasso demanded, war scarred face pulled into a sneer.

“Someone smarter than both of us.” Ivan growled, clicking the gun safety off. The other swallowed and shut up in a hurry.

“This dispute is identical to one you've both had three months ago, four months ago, and last cycle. A neutral buffer zone would be beneficial for both parties.” Matthew suggested plainly, taking the time to project a three dimensional image from the ceiling. It depicted a theoretical neutral zone highlighted in red, a tiny area in comparison to both their burgeoning territories.

The grey furred pirate relaxed at the same time Ivan reluctantly lowered his gun. “That wouldn't be a completely shit idea.” the intruder noted, slightly less hostile.

“Then discuss it with your generals, while I do the same. And get the fuck off my ship.” Ivan growled, putting the safety on his weapon only after the opposing captain started putting his space suit back on.

It was honestly a relief once Ivan saw the pest leave through ship cameras. Activating a button on his collar, Ivan called out “Luuk? Can you hear me?”

There was scratchy static, then a distantly delayed “... Yeah?”

“Captain's meeting at dinner tonight. Some politics came up again.” Ivan informed as he marched back to his children's room. It now only held clutter and toys, but no children. This was no surprise.

“... Okay Cap.” a slow response came back. Then the line went dead. Unconcerned, Ivan had much bigger issues to contend with, like four missing grown children, and three little babies.

A much clearer call came in as Ivan began frantically looking under furniture in all the children rooms. “Enemy ships spotted in range. Ready to fire.” came from a cold sounding Talia. “Target acquired, can I blow it to pieces yet?” Mathias piped in, a very excitable Xelonian arms specialist new to the crew.

“No, no, do _not_ blow up that envoy, just track it to the border. It's important.” Ivan insisted, flustered. Trigger happy fools was the one downside of a largely military crew. Answers of “Yes, Captain.” and a whining “Aww man.” echoed back.

Ivan was hardly concerned with the grown children. They were incredibly smart and no doubt up to no good, but relatively competent at cleaning up their own mistakes. It was the little babies that had the Russian's heart beating erratically in fear. They were truly defenceless, mute and dependent on others.

Bursting into engineering, Ivan only spotted Tino, his chief engineer. The snowy white cat person was wrangling a mess of pipes and hoses back into exposed innards of a wall. Gilbert, an albino looking fellow with obvious android body bits, was reclining with a tablet on a lounger as he “worked”.

“Tino, have you see Zarya or the little ones?” the ash blonde asked hurriedly.

“No captain. I've been busy with internal cooling systems since breakfast.” Tino replied sweetly without looking over their burly shoulder. Slipping the wall panel back in place, the engineer finally spotted Gilbert doing nothing yet again. 

“GILBERT. GET BACK TO WORK!” Tino suddenly exploded, not actually angry. They just came in only two settings, very affectionate and charming, or a screaming unholy monster of a manager.

As Ivan scrambled off to search for his babies, muffled yells of “I'm moving! Leave me alone!” could be heard. There was no pity to be had to the famously self indulgent computer specialist. Soon Vasily, easily the biggest of Ivan's children, was spotted altering motherboards on the dirty kitchen table. The quiet child was already two heads taller than her siblings, with a sunny blend of colours between Alfred's golden caramel and Ivan's pink.

Unfortunately, Ivan had been extremely incorrect on names. Vasily was a boys name, but she ended up being a female. Zarya and Dasha were technically male, but acted very maternally with strong parent instincts. Dmitri was a hermaphrodite, and changed their mind every hour what they were going to do for a job. Honestly, Ivan had given up on who was what, calling everyone his daughter or son at whim. It was simply easier this way.

“Vasya, my little star. Have you seen Yuri, Vera, and Annika?” Ivan asked, itching to kiss his child but wary of that cauterizing tool more.

“The doctor has them. Zarya gave them to Feli and ran off to colour pictures.” the child informed, utterly absorbed by her tasks. Hiding his face in shame, Ivan groaned. Zarya was supposed to be the maternal responsible one of the bunch.

The good doctor Beilschmidt had been surprisingly insistent about joining Ivan's crew right away. Soft mutterings of “the study of a lifetime” vaguely concerned the parent, but any on board doctor was better than no doctor. The medical bay was one of the first areas to be fully populated, making Ivan a rather attractive employer. Apparently access to medical personnel was unheard of in pirate operated space.

Entering the medical bay, Ivan scanned the sterile space bursting with alien equipment. The blonde Karyan, Lud Beilschmidt, was utterly captivated with Ivan's young on a weight scale. His tail swished with interest as he prodded at Yuri playing with a rattle. The doctor wore a fanged grin that should only be reserved for dinner. “It's just so fascinating, the purple one is gaining growth at exactly 75.6% the rate as these orange and pink ones, yet I cannot detect deformations or missing genes.” 

“And 100% as cute!” the ginger furred Feli cheered, relaxing in short shorts as he took notes.

“Doctor.” Ivan greeted stiffly.

The practitioner twirled around, eyes wide a moment as he straightened out wrinkles in his laboratory coat. “Hello captain, we were just playing. Scientifically.”

“Of course you were. I would like my children back, if you are finished.” Ivan ordered more than asked. The babies dropped the distraction rattle at the sound of Ivan's voice, silently reaching to their mother from the metal weighing bowl.

“By all means.” the doctor conceded, stepping aside and bowing slightly. “Hello little angels. Vanya loves you, yes I do.” the parent gushed as he scooped them up. All three were placed in roomy internal pockets of the bullet proof captain's coat. They gurgled and smiled, curling up to nap in the private secure space.

Stress levels dropping already, Ivan relaxed tense shoulders. Leaving the good doctor to his devices, Ivan called out “Matvey.”

“Yes captain?” the computer replied pleasantly.

“Did you send neutral zone plans with that envoy from Orasso territory?” Ivan inquired as he headed to the bridge of the ship.

“I did, in three formats, I'm not certain how out of date the enemy fleet is. I also informed all captains of the meeting at dinner. Francis has been made aware hes cooking for 29.” the computer replied, ever so friendly and helpful.

“It will be... twenty eight. Fedya is having a rough day. I'm making him relax this evening in the medical bay.” Ivan explained, unable to keep a twinge of sadness out of his words. Reaching the bridge, Ivan spent the remainder of his day giving commands and redirecting his improvised military in border patrols. The Russian's many enemies needed to think he was much more cunning and far spread than he really was.

Only his three vulnerable children's needs could pry him from the cozy captain's chair. Little ones did need to eat, and therefore poop after all. Ivan's own fatigue hit him like a sledge hammer after he cleaned up the kids and changed into something not splattered with baby food.

Being a parent of seven was hard. But beyond this, was a stress of a different kind. One Ivan never though he would have to juggle. Old age. It wasn't for his own sake, at a healthy 37 earth years old. It was for Alfred. His quite rare race, Orvids, were some of the shortest living sentient peoples of this region.

Alfred's kind rarely lived beyond 30 cycles, or roughly 16 earth years. With the amazing advances in technology at his finger tips, Ivan was definitely going to live to at least 80 earth years, or 142 cycles total. Ivan was considered a long lived race, but the unhappy Russian was not pleased. It wasn't _fair_ that Alfred was fading away before his very eyes. It was cruel, finding love with a person that was going to die so unbearably soon.

Quietly slipping past the busy doctor in the medical bay, Ivan peeled back a blue curtain in the palative care area. It was an improvised space, one Ivan had set up not even a month ago. When Alfred's back started weakening, his youthful strength fully diminished.

Alfred, needing glasses to see now, was reading the monthly budget read out while music softly played. His complexion, once a strong golden brown, was fading rapidly to flat tan. He looked up at Ivan with a crinkled smile. “Hi babe, come to see the most handsome fella here?” He greeted genially.

“You know it dearest.” Ivan chuckled, kissing his partners brow.

“I've been going over the budget, and everything checks out. We should be able to hand out holiday bonuses this month with out cutting into next cycle's profits. And I want to talk about replacements. I think Luuk will be your best bet for a financial manager. We've had him for ages and he's proven to be loyal.” The elder noted, pointing at figures on his tablet.

“I don't need another financial manager. I have you.” Ivan said softly, trying his best not to cry.

“Babe... I'm dying. I can't even walk anymore. The doc has a machine that filters my blood for me.” Alfred replied in the most serious of tones.

“I... I know.” Ivan whimpered quietly, almost inaudible as he looked away with misty eyes. Taking a deep breath, the human composed himself again. “Did the kids visit today?”

“All the grown ones. They were pretty sad, but I think they understand whats going on.” Alfred said solemnly.

“I brought the youngest with me. I want them to know what their daddy looks like.” Ivan offered, showing the inside of his captains coat. Three curious babies looked out, eyes lighting up with joy at seeing Alfred. The smallest one, Yuri, was impatient and trying to climb out of the pocket.

Placed on Alfred's chest, the happy baby smiled and squeezed the medical sheets with violet tentacles. Their siblings, Vera and Annika soon joined in the quiet scrunching fun. “I'm so happy their healthy, and they inherited such a long life. I had my first driver's license at Vasya's age, and she's still in school. It's so... amazing. I'm so happy I met you.” The sickly father crooned, voice cracking slightly with emotion.

Alfred was rather quick to tire these days, already yawning and closing his clouding eyes from such small exertions. Sensing a good time to leave, Ivan gathered the children and took a deep breath, leaving the curtained in area. Feli stopped him without a word, paw on Ivan's shoulder. A tissue was placed in his hand as the normally oblivious ginger tabby gestured to his eyes.

Ivan was crying despite his best efforts, it seemed. “Thank you.” the bereaved captain uttered, accepting the token and dabbing his face dry. It took far too long to become calm, but he managed it all the same. Leaving the medical bay with as much authority and grace as he could manage, the stubborn human continued his endless list of tasks.

The dining hall was simple in design but grand in size. Ivan felt a meeting wasn't proper without food. Dinner seemed to be the only meal multiple cultures could agree on while jammed in the same craft. Thus, family dinner meetings were born.

Tonight's meal was various soups and 2 kinds of bread, nothing nearly as grand as usual. Ivan didn't hold it against his chef Francis. The poor employee had only ten hours notice to slam something together instead of a healthy two days.

With 12 crew members, 8 other captains, Ivan's seven kids, and Tino's two, the event was getting quite large. Standing, Ivan called out “Welcome! Welcome Captains and crew. And welcome little babies.” Ivan waved to one of Tino's tawny kittens, cracking a tired smile. The child, named Peter if Ivan remembered properly, waved back after a moment of hesitation. 

All the chattering and hisses of conversation died down as sixty eyes settled on him. It was a feeling he never acclimatized to in all these years, heavy pressure on his chest. Ivan debriefed everyone on the situation with their rather violent trading neighbours, and the proposed neutral zone.

“Is the bad people gonna get us?” Ladonia, Tino's youngest kitten, asked at the end.

“No, little one. I will crush them into paste before they can try.” Ivan promised sincerely.

“Given how vulnerable our mining operations are, and Advisor Kirkland-Jones's condition, how do you expect us to upkeep financial profits two cycles from now?” Luuk, the chief of mining operations, asked coolly. Not once did he stop his smoking completely to talk, pipe smoke trailing around a blue battle scarred face. His shock of hair was almost as intense as his amber eyes. He was a lanky fellow, though less fit than Ivan.

“In regards to... to Mr. Kirkland-Jones. He resigned this evening due to health complications. I am appointing a new financial advisor immediately.” Ivan announced, barely managing to keep his voice even.

A hush fell over the room. Everyone was very much aware of Alfred's decrepit state. There was even whispers Ivan was too cowardly to do the right thing and pull the plug. They rumours weren't exactly wrong, but the human was determined to prove himself. Ivan was strong. He could be the leader they needed, now more than ever before.

“Who is it?” Luuk finally asked after a long moment of silence. Everyone looked in surprise at his impatience.

“It's you.” Ivan said simply, looking him dead in the eye.

The other captain lost his words, sitting down again. With a few blinks, he looked up and replied slowly, as if each vowel was of significance in its own right. “I accept the position.”

“Good. I expect you ready to work in two days, with a suitable replacement for your current position chosen.” Ivan pressed on. Soon business was over, and everyone chowed down appreciatively. Ivan took the time to take in the ambience of the room.

Family and coworkers brought together for profit, some even becoming friends to the overworked human. They didn't even know how far Ivan was willing to go for Alfred's vast visions. Dreams of space-ports built and owned by the family. Artificial planets. Tourism. Maybe even becoming a recognized government body. A union of communities and many species working together.

This galaxy had no idea what was coming.

~ The End ~


End file.
